


Falling Facades

by mk_malfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, Drama, F/M, HP: EWE, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-16
Updated: 2009-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 22:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4155846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mk_malfoy/pseuds/mk_malfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione returns to Australia to bring her parents home, but finds more than just her parents waiting for her. Not epilogue-compliant, and it is incomplete!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Facades

Title: Falling Facades  
Author: MK Malfoy  
Characters: Severus/Hermione  
Rating: M  
Words: 3,000 (this chapter)  
Summary: Hermione returns to Australia to bring her parents home, but finds more than just her parents waiting for her. Not epilogue-compliant  
Warnings: DH-compliant but not epilogue-compliant, Romance, perhaps some angst, explicit sex, spoilers for all of DH, INCOMPLETE!  
Disclaimer: I own none of what I write about; it is all Jo’s, Bloomsbury, Scholastic, Warner Bros, etc.

Chapter One:

Exactly one year after the final funeral, the one where Ron, Harry, and she had cried unabashedly for their lost brother and friend, Hermione set off for Australia to bring her parents home, filled with hope and promise, knowing that soon her life would be as it should be... finally.

She had wanted to make this trip a year earlier, as soon as all the funerals ended, but a week after they’d buried Fred, and a few days before she had planned to go to Australia, she’d had the Floo accident that left her unable to walk or speak for six months. Harry had found her, and although no one knew how long she had been lying in the Floo, Healers said she had probably been there for hours. It was a miracle that she had survived and was doing as well as she now was. The Healers had given her little to no chance, and even after she had defied their odds, they said she would never be as normal as she had been before the accident. She was now doing so much better than anyone had expected, but she was not fully healed, nor would she ever be: her legs still ached to the point of almost being too much to cope with, and she tired easily.

Nevertheless, she was determined to bring her parents home, pain or not.

She wanted to put the accident, Voldemort, the past two years, behind her.

As she slowly neared the house in the Outback, where her parents now resided, she couldn’t help but grin and sigh in relief at the thought of once again being able to see and talk to them. The previous two years had been filled with such emotion, strife and, most of all, loneliness. Yes, she had had her two best friends with her for the majority of those two years, but the two people whom had always meant more to Hermione than anyone else, had been far away and unreachable. It had been almost unbearable for Hermione without her parents, and all she wished to do was wrap her arms around her mother and father and never let them go. Yes, she was an adult, but even adults needed their parents, and Hermione hadn’t had any contact with hers in almost two years… two years that had been the worst of her life for so many reasons.

As a particularly severe pain shot through her left leg, Hermione had to stop and rest. She was so close; her legs, imbued with copious amounts of advanced magic, needed to support her for just a little while longer, then she could sit down, rest, and allow her mother to dote on her. The thought brought a smile to Hermione’s face. As a child, she had been little Miss independent and had balked at any help from her parents. The older she became, however, the more she appreciated her parents' enthusiasm and interest in her life, a life that was so vastly different from their own. And now, well… she knew that she’d appreciate their concern even more. She needed her parents now more than ever, and she was looking forward to not being strong and resilient for a while, and to being her parents' daughter.

Beginning to walk again, Hermione thanked Merlin for magic: it was the only thing allowing her to stand and walk, and it was the reason she could halfway stand the pain. It usually took her an hour each morning to prepare herself for the day. When Harry was not out on a mission, he would help set the magic, and that always helped, but most of the time, Hermione did the spells herself.

The pain she endured was immense, and she shed tears almost daily because of it, but no matter all of her personal hardships, she couldn’t help but smile: her life finally seemed to be returning to normal, and after today, she wouldn’t have to worry about anything — other than the pain — for a few months. She had been going through physical therapy for six months, and was now taking a one-month break, and in two months she would begin university at Oxford (a year later than planned, but she was just happy to be able to attend at all), where she planned to study human-rights. Her real interest, of course, were house-elf rights, but seeing as how Muggles had no idea there were such a thing… So, for the next month, she planned on relaxing and enjoying life. There was much to be thankful for. She’d not spare a thought for what she had lost: there were children and adults all over the world who could not see, hear, who had no legs, arms, who could not speak, who had no mind. Her losses were so very minimal, and didn’t mean anything to her. And of course, she had the benefit of being a witch. Magic had its advantages. Yes, she had every reason to be thankful, and not a one to be ungrateful.

She opened the gate that would take her up the path to where her parents were hidden away from the world, and her grin increased: the house was small, white, and looked exactly like the one her mother had always talked about having. It was such an odd feeling, this mixture of euphoria and extreme nervousness. She could already feel her mother’s arms around her, and she could hear her father as he told her to please not cry, that he and her mother were fine. She could also hear the concern in their voices and see it on their faces as they saw the scars and noticed the condition their daughter was in. That was not something she looked forward to, but she knew it went along with being who she was — her parents would always fuss over her, and if she was hurt, as she was, they were going to be even more concerned. It was a fact of life, and Hermione sighed, knowing she would rather be fussed over a million times, rather than never see her parents again. Two years without a parent to talk to, or without a mother asking her if she were doing alright… well, it had hurt, and Hermione never wanted to experience that level of loneliness again.

A knock on the door. Hermione held her breath, suddenly scared. What if... No, she had to think positively; this would work, and she would have her parents again. Still, an overwhelming sense of foreboding came over her, and she tensed as she heard someone nearing the door.

When a familiar, petite woman, with shoulder-length, darkish-brown hair, opened the door, Hermione only had a second to look around at the small, quaint interior before her mother asked who she was.

Jaw set firmly, not deterred in the least, because she knew that she had performed the strong charm correctly all those many months ago, Hermione performed the counter-charm to reverse her mother’s memory.

It didn’t work.

Hermione’s mother stared at her daughter. Hermione, only slightly unnerved, kept her composure and tried another charm. It didn’t work. An increasingly distressed Hermione, her face now showing the strain of what she faced, tried again and again, but no matter what she did, her parents’ memories of her and their previous lives were nowhere to be found. This went on for over an hour, most of it, for Hermione, in a haze.

Each time Hermione attempted a different charm, her parents cowered; they asked what she was doing with a stick in her hand, and kept looking at each other as if they were about to be murdered. Hermione tried valiantly to keep her emotions from showing, but everything she was facing proved too much. Tears began streaming down her face as she silently mouthed charms and prayers to anyone who would listen, and tried anything that she thought might work, not willing to give up. More tears blurred her vision as more formed, waiting their turn to join the others that were falling onto her shirt, leaving it wet, and leaving her parched. She needed her parents to remember her as much as a dry riverbed craved water.

Yes, she had known the risks when she had placed them under the complex charm, but she had been so very certain that her parents would be okay.

The worst was when she had to Obliviate them, in order to keep them calm; they had no idea that their daughter was a witch, or that there was such a thing as a wizarding world, so she had no choice. She’d tried more than twenty magical charms on them and they were more petrified with each attempt: not literally, in the magical sense, but they were terrified, nonetheless, and Hermione found herself sobbing uncontrollably as she shook her head, not wanting to believe that her parents were gone from her forever.

She heard them repeatedly asking her why she was crying and what she was doing, and she knew they were terrified that she was going to kill them. It upset her, but it was as if the words they were saying were in a tunnel; Hermione heard them and saw what her parents were doing, but all she could think about was that her parents were gone. It all combined to overwhelm the magic left in Hermione’s legs, and she collapsed on the floor, exhausted.

Next thing she knew, she was lying on the sofa, a flannel on her forehead. Her mother was sitting beside her, caressing her cheek. Hermione leaned into the touch, needing and basking in it. She was about to open her mouth to speak when the door opened. She leaned up on her elbows and glanced around, curious as to why a stranger would be entering her parents' house, and stared open-mouthed as she recognized the stranger… who was not at all a stranger. She was certain she must look as pale as the ghost she was surely looking at. No. It couldn’t be.

“What are you staring at, Miss?” asked the tall, dark shadowy figure standing in the doorway, his voice angry, as if he had been insulted. He glared at the young woman on the sofa and shook his head.

Hermione opened her mouth, but couldn’t manage to get any words out. Even in shadow, he looked formidable; his shoulder-length dark hair and his hawkish-profile combined to send Hermione back to another time and place.

“I am well aware that my appearance is not at all what anyone would consider handsome, young lady, but you are being most rude. You do not see me looking at you as if you were a freak of nature, yet I can see that you have a physical, and perhaps mental, deformity. You need a lesson in manners, young lady." He then turned away from her, his movement sharp and abrupt, and looked at the other man, who was standing behind the sofa, looking down at the girl. “Young people these days make me ill — so very uneducated and disrespectful. If I had a daughter, and she looked at me as this girl is, I’d be tempted to put her over my knees and give her a few good lashes.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but her father looked at her and shook his head. Hermione sighed, but closed her mouth. She had never been able to disobey him.

“She is injured, Dolph. We don’t know why she is here, but she is hurt,” replied the man, his voice uncertain, his expression the same, as he glanced in between the man in the doorway and the young lady on the sofa.

Hermione tried to listen to her father, but she was still infuriated at what had been said to her by this man who seemed to have no memories of her... apparently, her parents weren't the only ones who didn't remember the past. She had an immediate retort on her tongue. How dare he… but then she thought better of voicing her thoughts. Besides… it couldn’t be! He was dead! She, Ron, and Harry had witnessed his being bitten by Nagini, and they had been at his funeral. What other conclusion should she have come to? He was supposed to be dead.

So then what was Severus Snape doing standing not even two feet away from her?

“I—” Hermione began, but she didn’t have any idea what to say next. It was as if her mouth were unable to work. “You—” she then said, pointing at him, wanting to say so much, yet not having a clue as to where to begin.

“I what?” asked the man as he removed his boots and placed them by the door. “Do speak up, woman. I do not read minds, nor do I wish to spend my evening conversing with a mute,” was his response before turning toward the other two inhabitants of the house. “Do you wish me to see her out? Is she bothering you? She is no doubt a beggar, seeking food.”

“I am not a beggar!” cried out Hermione as she tried to sit up. Her mother pushed her back down, and Hermione reluctantly acquiesced. “I’ll have you know that I am here because… well…” Hermione had no clue what to say next, so she decided that saying nothing might be the best course of action.

“Yes, well, it seems as if we have a proud little beggar on our hands. So what would you like? A few slices of bread, perhaps? Some cider?”

“She is ill, Dolph—”

“I don’t want anything to eat or drink!” Hermione screamed as she raised her hands and as tears began to flow down her cheeks again. “I came here to get my parents back. These,” Hermione said, pointing back toward her parents, “are my parents, but they don’t remember me. And you… you are my former professor whom I saw die a year ago. What is going on?” Hermione finished, lowering her face into her hands, her body shaking with rage and sadness. She cried for minutes with no sound coming from the others, but then she felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up into the eyes of her mother, who was smiling at her. Hermione wiped the tears away, even as more fell.

“Am I your mother, child? Is this true?” asked the nervous-sounding woman as she glanced toward her husband. “And is this really your father?” she asked before letting her hand fall away reluctantly. She looked as if she wanted to touch Hermione again, but decided against it and backed away a few steps, bringing her hands to her mouth, perhaps in shock.

Hermione wiped away another tear as she nodded. She wanted to know what was happening. “It is a long story, but yes, the two of you are really my parents, and he,” Hermione said as she pointed toward a glaring Severus Snape, “was once my professor, whom I watched die a year ago.”

Then Hermione stood, and even as she was dizzy and unsteady, she walked over to Snape and looked at his neck, where two puncture marks stood out against his pale, sallow skin. “This is where Nagini, a snake,” Hermione added when she remembered that the name Nagini would probably have no meaning to him, “sank her fangs into your neck.” Hermione watched a pale hand come up, and then as a long, slender finger traced the length of the scars, and then as dark, brooding eyes fixed on her as if he were looking through her and not at her.

It was eerie, seeing her former austere professor, who looked so very like himself, yet not. He wore a faded black button-neck shirt, old blue jeans with holes in the knees, and his brown boots looked to be quite a few years old. His hair... well, that hadn’t much changed: it was still lank and oily-looking, as if he hadn’t washed it in months, but it wasn’t his appearance that gave Hermione pause; it was the way he seemed to carry himself. Despite her initial assessment, the man's words, and the response from her parents seemed to indicate that Snape no longer had that air about him that gave the impression that he was one move away from swooping down and sinking his teeth into you. Perhaps having something else doing that to him had rid him of that particular habit. Yet it was more than even that: he looked lost, not at all certain of anything. It was not at all a familiar look on the man, and Hermione found herself wanting to hear him berate her for being an insufferable know-it-all. At least that would be something familiar. As it was, the man whom had wielded such immense presence now commanded little more than control over his bodily movements. Hermione mused that he talked a big talk, but probably had nothing behind the words to make anyone do what he said. It was not a happy thought, and Hermione wondered what could have happened to him in twelve months to bring him to the point he was at now. She turned her eyes away from him and looked at her father, who was looking at her, a look of disbelief on his face, but she turned back toward Snape when he cleared his throat.

“What you say has to be the truth. Monica and Wendell have never let anyone, other than me, in their home. They may say they do not remember you, but there is something about you that is familiar,” Snape finished, again stroking his scars. “I always wondered where this scar came from,” said a perplexed Snape as he seemed to study Hermione again. “About a year ago, Wendell and Monica took me in. I don’t recall much of anything about that time, but according to them, I was near death. If this story of yours is true, which I am inclined to believe it is, then you must know what my name is,” Snape said as he glanced at Monica. “They call me Dolph. It doesn’t suit me at all, but as we have no idea what my name is, they call me Dolph.”

It was quite obvious Snape was not pleased with this name. Hermione didn’t blame him, especially since she had an idea where the name had come from. “It’s Severus Snape,” she replied, her voice sad and soft, not at all happy with the situation. She felt sick to her stomach. What was going on?

“Severus? Hm. It is rather fitting, I think. It rolls off the tongue, wouldn’t you say? Sounds like something a snake would hiss out if it could. What is your name?” asked a somewhat more pleasant-sounding Snape.

Horrified at his last statement, because of Voldemort being snake-like and all, and because it had been a snake that had supposedly killed him, Hermione gasped, but soon recovered and shook her head to clear her thoughts of Voldemort, who was not ever coming back, and who would never be able to hurt her family and friends again. “My name is Hermione Granger, and these are my parents, Jean and Michael Granger.”

Chapter 2

Title: Falling Facades  
Author: MK Malfoy  
Characters: Severus/Hermione  
Rating: M  
Words: 3600 (this chapter)  
Summary: Hermione travels to Australia to bring her parents home, but finds more than just her parents waiting for her. Not epilogue-compliant  
Warnings: DH-compliant but not epilogue-compliant, perhaps some angst, explicit sex, spoilers for all of DH  
Disclaimer: I own none of what I write about; it is all Jo’s, Bloomsbury, Scholastic, Warner Bros, etc.

Five minutes after hearing the jolting news that she had a daughter, Jean Granger stood and said she needed to prepare supper. Instead of leaving immediately, however, her gaze lingered on Hermione a few seconds longer, and a look of longing, or that is what Hermione wanted to believe it was, replaced the frown the woman had worn for the past few minutes. After a few seconds more, she entered the kitchen, but kept looking back at her daughter, as if the young lady would vanish into thin air at any moment. Hermione wished to follow her mother into the kitchen, to ask what she and her father had been doing for the past two years. Instead, she stood and hobbled into another room to find sanctuary.

She doubted she’d ever find it.

Finding the lone window in the small house that only had four rooms (a scantly decorated living/sitting room, a bright yellow, ornately furnished kitchen, an almost empty, except for a small bed, bedroom, where the window was, and a tiny bathroom with purple wallpaper), she sat in a chair and watched the sparse wildlife that dared to live in this remote region of Australia, far away from civilization, and felt as desolate as her surroundings. Where there had been hope and happiness hours earlier, dread and fear had settled in, and the two seemed to have no plans on leaving anytime soon. It was such a disheartening situation, and Hermione hadn’t a clue what to do, but she did muse at what a difference twelve months could make in a person’s life. Before the accident, she would have approached the almost insurmountable problems that now lay before her, more optimistically, and she would have had more hope, but now, a year of pain and disconcerting news regarding her physical well-being had somewhat diminished her once rosy outlook on life. Her former-self would have set out immediately to solve her parents’ and Snape’s problems, but now it was all Hermione could do to cope with what she faced. She needed help, but didn’t have any clue where to get said help.

Well… that wasn’t entirely true: she had Harry and Ron, as well as Luna and the others, and they would be happy to help, but the stubborn Hermione, left over from years and years of being that insufferable-know-it-all, who wanted to do things her way and on her own, wasn’t quite ready to bring in any outside help. Perhaps she could do this alone.

“Supper is ready, dear,” Hermione heard her mother’s familiar voice announce a half-hour later. Carefully, she stood and turned to enter the kitchen, but almost immediately, she had to sit back down and close her eyes. The pain was becoming worse. She tried to hide the discomfort she was in, but there was little chance that she was succeeding; every inch of her ached. She let out a grimace and sigh, and became angry that she couldn’t handle this on her own. She heard someone approaching the room, and she looked up into soft, brown eyes, filled with compassion: if only the person behind those eyes could remember… that is what Hermione wanted more than anything.

“Dolph, dear, would you please come help Hermione to the table? I would help her but my hands have flour all over them. She is sitting by the window,” Hermione heard her mother say, her voice sounding concerned, so much like the mother whom Hermione had grown up adoring and loving, the mother who had always fussed over her daughter when she had been ill. The thought made Hermione sad; she wanted her mother to take care of her now. Perhaps she would, but she was not the mother whom Hermione had expected.

After a few muttered words to the woman whom he thought of as Monica, Snape made his way into the smaller room, then over to Hermione, but he didn’t speak for a few seconds. Hermione noticed his gaze surveying the view from the window, a look of peace on the stern face — it was completely foreign that Severus Snape could ever make a face such as this. Hermione was about to speak when Snape pointed toward the window. “I see you have discovered the best aspect of living out here: beautiful sunset. I often find myself sitting where you are each evening to see what magnificent colors are going to grace the sky; I try never to miss it,” said an animated Snape… well, animated for him, that is. “Fascinating story about that area over there. Over fourteen-thousand years ago, there was water covering almost this entire area. See those white dunes over there?”

The dunes weren’t exactly near, but Hermione did see them, and thought they looked like sandcastles someone had built. She glanced at Snape and shook her head in disbelief. It was almost as if this Snape were trying too hard. The Snape Hermione had known would maybe have said three words to her. This person was not at all like that other man Hermione had learned to loathe. She nodded, then returned her gaze in the general direction of where Snape was pointing.

“That area is known as the Wall of China. The lake, well, it’s a lake-bed now, is called Mungo’s Lake. Not a lot of visitors this time of year, but they come and bring their kids, and have picnics. I like to watch the parents as they watch their children run around and play.”

Again, Hermione was caught off-guard by the sincerity and frankness of this person, but what had peaked her attention even more was the familiar word: Mungo’s. She smiled. Even ten-thousand miles away from home, she found herself surrounded with familiar reminders, even if none of them knew who she was. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, it is,” replied Snape, sounding a bit wistful and melancholy as he continued to look toward the dunes. “I think we should move to the kitchen. Monica is one for promptness, and doesn’t like it when Wendell and I ignore her; she’s a bit bossy for my tastes, but she gives me a place to live and food to eat. I can’t ask for anything more than that, can I?” He then looked at Hermione and gave her a slight grin.

Even if Hermione hadn’t been mystified by what Snape said, how he said it, or what he had done, she wouldn’t have been able to speak. Snape was talking about someone else being bossy? Hermione couldn’t help the grin. Oh, this was too good for words. She needed to be recording this for posterity. But then she sobered and remembered why Snape was acting as he was and what she faced — what everyone faced.

Perhaps it wasn’t so amusing after all.

Hermione stood, then took Snape’s offered arm. He walked slowly, and glanced at her every few seconds as they neared the kitchen, but he didn’t speak another word, and he tried to look indifferent. Hermione, however, couldn’t help but stare at the man whom she had pretty much not spared a kind thought toward for six years. It was most odd now to see him in this new light: he did look very much like the Snape-of-old — upon first sight, that is — but it hadn’t taken long to ascertain that he was very much unlike the former professor he had been not so long ago. Even his voice, while very similar, had a different cadence to it: not so guarded, and a bit friendlier… not as deep and authoritative as his voice had been as a teacher.

“Miss Granger, again, I am aware that my looks are—” Snape said when he tired of the constant staring. Hermione let out a slight laugh, causing him to stop.

“I’m sorry for staring, Prof—“ Hermione stopped, realizing that this man was not her professor, but she didn’t know what she should call him: Dolph, Severus, or Snape? “It’s just eerie seeing you after thinking you were dead.” Hermione then forced her eyes to look away as they entered the kitchen, and glanced at her mother. “It smells delightful,” she said as she took in the magnificent aromas coming from the stove. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I smelled the wonderful smells coming from in here.” She could see Snape glaring at her as she spoke.

She again grinned. As much as things had changed, some things would forever remain the same.

Snape pulled out her chair and helped her sit down, which shocked Hermione, and had she any doubts before, which she hadn’t, now she knew that he wasn’t faking amnesia; this was most definitely not the Snape she had known. She attempted to give him a smile in thanks, but couldn’t even manage a partial grin as a new pain shot up her right leg. She did her best to hide the pain, but knew it was a hopeless endeavor. Snape’s glare, mingled with pity, lingered on her for a few seconds longer, then he walked to his chair and sat down across from her. Hermione tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to.

Severus Snape was alive!

That fact hadn’t fully sunk in yet, and Hermione wasn’t sure it ever would.

She couldn’t wait to tell Harry… that conversation would prove quite interesting; Hermione smiled at the thought, but then grimaced when her knee hit one of the table legs. It was past time for her to redo her magic, but she didn’t yet know how she was going to go about doing so. She couldn’t just come out and tell them she was a witch, in order for her to perform magic to help her legs… could she?

Her mother sat down, then her father followed, and they began to eat, all except Hermione. She looked around her and couldn’t believe the other three were going about eating as if everything were normal; it was as if she hadn’t told them who they were and who she was — they were doing their best to ignore her words, Hermione guessed, and it was driving her spare, but she really couldn’t blame them. They probably thought she was mental. Regardless, it would take time for them to accept this, especially when they found out that there was more than just amnesia going on here — that magic was involved.

Her mother looked up at her and smiled, but then looked down at her plate, and then toward her husband. Hermione thought the two probably thought she was delusional; perhaps they agreed with Snape that she was a beggar.

Hermione’s gaze then rested on her father: he looked uncomfortable, and was trying his best not to look at his daughter. Hermione wished he would. Her father would have never acted like this.

As Jean Granger had prepared supper, Michael Granger had remained in the sitting room, but Hermione had noticed him glancing toward the room she had entered, a perplexed look on his face, which had frustrated her, but she couldn’t blame him. Had someone barged in on her and announced that they were her daughter, she would be a bit curious and cautious as well. A few times, he had opened his mouth as if he were about to ask her a question, but then he’d stopped. Hermione wanted him to ask her questions; she wanted someone to speak. It was as if everyone had been avoiding the inevitable, and she was well aware that there was a lot of inevitable to avoid.

What a fine mess this was. Hermione had no idea how she was going to solve this problem, but she had to, or she would go mad. She glanced toward the plate her mother had handed her, but found that she no longer had an appetite. She looked apologetically at the woman who had seen to her well-being for over seventeen years, and wanted to cry. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

“Are you not hungry, dear?” asked her mother as she served herself some beans. “You need nourishment to regain your strength. You are not going to heal if you starve yourself, young lady,” finished Jean Granger, her voice not hiding her concern and authority.

There was no trace of humor in her mother’s words, but Hermione smiled and allowed herself a slight chuckle, nonetheless: her mother’s words were the first familiar ones that had been said by her parents (It was as if Hermione were ten and her mother was telling her to drink her milk.), and Hermione was so overcome with happiness that she wanted to run over to her mother and hug her. Her legs prevented her from doing so. She frowned, but quickly lost the sad expression and allowed another grin before she picked up her fork and tried to eat; she didn’t want to disappoint her mother. She ate a few bites, but then she began to feel as if she might be sick; it was all-too-familiar. She went through this each night, and either Ron or Harry were the ones who always ended up massaging her legs as she fell asleep. That, along with the advanced magic, seemed to be the only way Hermione could get any relief from the pain. “I’m sorry. I don’t feel very well. Do you mind if I lie down on the bed for a few minutes? That should help.” Hermione again felt a lump forming in her throat, and she glanced at Snape, who looked at her, a strange expression on his face, one that Hermione had seen one other time — the night he had died, or so she had thought. The look he had given Harry right before he died… it was the same exact look he was giving Hermione now, and it upset her immensely. Was he remembering?

She made a decision.

“The person you really are would more than likely be able to help me, Professor… er Dolph,” Hermione amended, then held her breath, waiting for his response. She probably shouldn’t have blurted that out, but well, it was out now, and there was nothing to be done for it.

Snape looked at Hermione, his expression now one of incredulity. “Please do not call me that, Miss Granger. You said my name is Severus. I would prefer to be addressed as such from now on. And, if I might ask, just how would I have been able to help you? You look to be severely injured. Even if I had been an advanced doctor, I doubt I’d be able to help you out here, so far away from the city. You need expert care, more than I could give you, I assure you,” he finished, with a small chuckle.

Oh, if he only knew. Again, Hermione weighed the pros and cons of revealing too much information. “You… and I… we are different. We… can do magic.” Hermione knew she was risking a lot by blurting out that she and Snape were wizards, but she was tired, in pain, and determined to solve this problem — these problems.

“Pardon me?” replied Severus, a comical look on his face. He then looked at Monica. “We should get her to hospital; she is worse off than I thought. If you’ll allow me, I’ll take her in my car.”

“I am not delusional, Severus,” Hermione said as she tried to stand, unsuccessfully. “You and I are wizards. You taught at a school for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I was a student there.” Then Hermione stopped abruptly and brought a hand to her mouth. What if this were a trap? What if her parents and Severus had been placed here to trap her? She could be falling for a trap. Her face surely went paler than it had already been, and she didn’t know what to do: to continue or to sit down and act as if she hadn’t said anything. Her personality, or the one that she had had for most of her life made the decision for her: she was in too deep to stop now. She was about to continue when Severus began to speak.

“If I am a wizard, who taught at a school for magical people, then what did I teach, Miss Granger? Reading Minds? Flying without the aid of anything else? Making people live forever?” Each of these things was said with the utmost levels of sarcasm.

It was Hermione’s turn to glare. She knew that there had to be some part of Severus that remembered if those were his choices of what he could teach. “You taught Potions.” When he laughed, Hermione sighed in anger.

“And I guess I taught you how to create love potions? Is that what I taught? I must have been quite the hit with the students,” retorted Severus as he looked toward the two people he knew as Monica and Wendell. He shook his head and then looked toward Hermione, skeptically appraising her.

It was obvious that he didn’t believe a word of what she said. Hermione looked at her parents, who were both staring intently at her as if she were about to do magic on them. “It is the truth. I wouldn’t lie to you,” she said, with more emotion than she had meant. She then looked back toward Severus. “Look at your fingers. They are stained from you using volatile potion ingredients for so long. Did you ever wonder why they looked as they do?”

Severus glanced at his hands and turned them over as he examined them, then he looked back at Hermione. “I am going to need more proof than this, Miss Granger. There are any number of ways my fingers and hands could have ended up in this condition.”

Hermione closed her eyes, breathed in and out a few times, then re-opened them. She reached into her pocket and retrieved her wand. “Lumos.” The tip of her wand lit up. It didn’t seem to have impressed Severus in the least, but her parents were mesmerized. “Accio, scone.” A scone flew into her hand. Hermione smirked toward Severus. “Believe me now?” From the look on his face, she had to assume he did.

“How did you do that?” he asked, a look of shock and surprise on his face as he backed his chair up a few inches, as if trying to get away. “Do it again.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. To hear her former professor speaking in such a way… as if he were a little boy who had just discovered dirt… it wasn’t natural. Hermione found that she rather liked this new version of Severus Snape. She did as asked, then placed her wand where it had been previously. “You should try it. I wonder if your magic is gone or not.”

Their food long-ago-forgotten, Hermione’s parents were looking intently in-between their house-guest and Hermione, and both looked startled and amazed. It was not so different from how the two had looked upon learning that their daughter had been a witch. It gave Hermione some small sense of relief to see familiar signs that Jean and Michael Granger still resided in those bodies.

“You seem to miss the fact that I do not possess a…er a wand, is that what you would call it, that thing that you used? It certainly looks like a wand. So if I had one, I could say abara cadabera and make a rabbit appear out of a top hat?” Again, this was said with a rather high level of sarcasm.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she also gasped. Those words were close enough to that Unforgiveable Curse… it was too close. She closed her eyes and knew that her face had to have changed; she never wanted to hear those words again.

“Hermione, are you having more pain?” asked her father.

She opened her eyes and shook her head. “No, sorry, he just said something that startled me is all.” Then she returned her attention to Severus. “I hate to break it to you, but er, the magic we do is a bit more advanced than pulling a rabbit out of a hat.” The image of Severus Snape pulling a rabbit from a hat was priceless, though, and Hermione wanted to never forget the image that his question had conjured. It might be that that one image could get her through her next few physical therapy sessions.

“I still do not possess a wand, so it is doubtful I could do anything,” Severus said, rather cheekily.

He could be right, but Hermione doubted it. “You could do Wandless Magic before… before we thought you died. Try to Summon that book to you. Just say Accio book as I did, and let’s see if it works.”

A skeptical Severus looked to the other two adults. They nodded their heads, so he took a deep breath, then let it out. “Accio Book.”

The book lifted off the table, but then fell back down. Nevertheless, it had been enough, and Hermione was grinning like a loon. “You more than likely haven’t done magic in over a year; with practice, the book should come to you when you Summon it.”

Severus stood and shook his head as he looked at the book. “I made it move,” he said, in awe, as if he were a little boy and had just made the life-changing discovery that he could do magic, which he most assuredly had. “I can do magic?”

Chapter 3: Falling Facades

Title: Falling Facades: Chapter Three  
Author: MK Malfoy  
Characters: Severus/Hermione  
Rating: M  
Words: 4350 (this chapter)  
Summary: Hermione travels to Australia to bring her parents home, but finds more than just her parents waiting for her. Not epilogue-compliant  
Warnings: DH-compliant but not epilogue-compliant, perhaps some angst, explicit sex, spoilers for all of DH  
Disclaimer: I own none of what I write about; it is all Jo’s, Bloomsbury, Scholastic, Warner Bros, etc.

There were moments in Hermione’s life that she never wanted to forget: the first time she rode a bike without the aid of training wheels; the day, as an eight-year-old, she baked her first two-layer cake, even though it was lopsided; the moment she discovered she was a witch, and the spectacle she was currently viewing — Severus Snape coming to terms with being someone who could do magic: it was like watching a child in a candy shop, and that wasn’t at all an exaggeration. Four meters between the book and him, he would shout Accio Book, and when nothing happened, he would then quickly walk the short distance to examine the book. It was quite comical to watch this exercise. Hermione found herself feeling somewhat bad for him and his seemingly futile attempts, but not too much — he was Severus Snape, after all.

As she stood a short distance from him, ready to give assistance if asked, Hermione glanced over at her parents, who were sitting on the sofa, whispering to each other while they watched in amusement as their house-guest tried to Accio the book to himself once more. Of course, it didn’t work the way he thought it should. With each failed attempt, he grumbled a bit more, and made all sorts of facial expressions that only served to make Hermione want to laugh harder.

She didn’t. She knew how important it was that he regain the use of his magic, and she knew that it might be he who would be the key to returning her parents to their former selves.

Watching Severus as he continued to examine the book from all angles, as if there were something within the book that had prevented it from traveling across the room to where he had been standing seconds earlier, Hermione was struck by how foreign he looked, as if he just didn’t belong in this situation; he seemed to be out of another time and place. It was an odd and insane thought, to be sure. He belonged here every bit as much as anyone else, but… no one else was Severus Snape, former resident-git — purveyor of scorn and condemnation.

Instead of looking forlornly at a book, as if it had sprouted Hippogriff wings, he should be yelling at her, or berating her parents for having such a bossy, self-serving daughter, Hermione thought. That person, she would feel comfortable around — that person, she would have at least recognized. This image of him completely didn't fit, and Hermione had no idea what to make of this dilemma. Never before had she been as befuddled by a situation. The normally calm, collected, self-assured Hermione now felt anything but calm.

As if those conundrums weren’t enough, there was the conversation they had had before they had eaten — the one they had while looking out of the window. It had been so very surreal. Hermione had had to pinch herself, and she was tempted to do so again, because she was beginning to see him as someone who was human — someone she found herself drawn to.

At the same time that Hermione was having these conflicting thoughts, Severus looked at her, an odd expression on his face. He moved his hair out of his face as his dark, forbidding eyes returned to the book, then his surroundings, as if searching for an answer, and the way he tucked the stray piece of hair behind his ear made him seem… dare she think it… sensual? It was completely mad, because there was nothing even remotely sensual about Severus Snape… yet here he was… being sensual. Hermione tried to turn away and look at something else, but found she couldn’t.

Severus’s musings so entranced her that she almost asked if he wanted a tie to pull his hair back; fortunately, she came to her senses before she could embarrass herself, but when Severus caught her staring at him, he sighed, and she couldn’t help the grin — well, it wasn’t every day that she got to witness something such as this, and she was trying to enjoy it as best she could. She knew there would be plenty of unhappy times ahead, so she might as well take pleasure and humor where she could find it.

“How are you feeling, Miss Granger? Are your legs still bothering you?” asked Severus as he set down the book and returned his attention to her.

If that was his way of trying to begin a friendly conversation, it was a piss poor way of doing so, Hermione thought. Of course she was still in pain. What did he think? That because she was a witch, she could just say poof and the pain would magically disappear? She rolled her eyes, but swallowed her retort; she needed and wanted to gain his friendship, not deter it. “Please call me Hermione," she said, instead, a slight grin on her face. “I am feeling somewhat better, but I’m in a rather lot of pain. I’m about to try to re-cast some advanced charms on my legs to see if perhaps that will help; I think I mentioned that earlier — that I needed to do that in order to feel better," Hermione added, not sure she had mentioned it. The day had been such a long one, and she had an idea it was about to get longer. She watched Severus open his mouth to respond, but she heard her father clear his throat, so she forced herself to look away from Severus, who was still looking strange and out of character, and to look at her parents, who presented her with another conundrum...

They seemed far too accepting of what they were witnessing. Rather than take offense that someone had invaded their home (well, she hadn’t really, but most people would say that is what she had done), they sat stoically and watched with rather understanding looks on their faces. Hermione was beginning to think that more than their memories had been altered, and she wondered if there hadn’t been someone else who performed some type of magic on them during the past two years. That would make sense, and it would explain why they were acting so very peculiar.

“After you do whatever you need to do for your legs, Hermione,” her father said, his voice now rather stern, “I’d very much appreciate it if you would tell us all what has happened and why it is that you believe us to be your parents and why you believe Do—Severus, to be your former professor who was killed. I do not like it that you have turned our seemingly normal existence upside down. My wife and I, and Dolph, were doing just fine before you came.” He then put his arm around his wife and whispered in her ear.

Hermione nodded, wondering what her father had said to her mother. It upset her to hear him angry with her, but, she had wanted them to resist, or show some form of curiosity, hadn’t she? “I’m sorry for this, really I am. I don’t know what’s happened, but I mean to find out. As soon as I reset the magic in my legs, I promise I’ll tell you everything.” Hermione stood to walk into the other room, but stopped when she heard Severus swear. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a distraught Severus throwing the book to the ground.

“Tell me what I need to do to make it work, Miss Granger!”

That was the question, wasn’t it? If Hermione knew the answer… “I think there’s something blocking your magic, but we have to figure out what that something is. For now, keep practicing.” It was such an odd image: her former professor, someone whom had not been nice to her… ever, now asking her for help. He looked so lost, and it made him look less forbidding, and more approachable. It was sad and disheartening to see him this way, but Hermione couldn’t deny that this person would have been a far better teacher than the professor she had had for six years. She began walking again, but then turned to look back at her parents. “After I tell you everything I have to tell, would you tell me everything you remember for the past two years?” She wanted so much to know every detail. Her mother nodded. Hermione grinned in relief.

“Yes, dear, we can do that. I have to tell you that Severus was correct — we do not allow strangers into our home. I do want to believe what you say, really, I do, but it’s scary. We don’t really know who you are, do we? You could be some drifter about to take everything we have. It isn’t much, our little house here, but it is ours. Having said that, there is something about you that has been calling out to both Wendell and me, and we can’t just very well send you on your way when what you say could be the truth. There has to be something to what you say. I don’t know that I want it to be true — I rather like the life my husband and I have made for ourselves here, but if there is something we aren’t aware of, I think we deserve to learn what that is. Don’t you, dear?” the kindly woman asked her husband. He looked at Hermione, seemed to think for a few seconds, then gave a curt nod.

“I quite agree. If you are our daughter, I want to remember everything. I want to know what it was like to bring you home from hospital, how much fun your mother and I had teaching you, and I want to know if Monica and I can do magic, although I am guessing not. Those are things a parent should know,” said Michael Granger, allowing a slight smile, but then his face returned to a rather neutral look.

What more could Hermione have hoped for… other than having her parents be as they were before? What her father had said was the best possible response Hermione could have hoped for; she had needed to hear those words. Everything she loved and needed was so near, yet so far, and she felt very much alone, yet she knew all of her answers had to be near; it was only a matter of finding them. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go into the bedroom to do the magic; it takes a lot of concentration and I’d rather do it alone… without an audience,” she added, putting emphases on the word without, when she noticed Severus turning to look at her again. She had the idea that he wanted to watch her do magic. She again began walking, but stopped as her father shook his head and looked toward Severus.

“At least help her to the bedroom, Severus; she looks like a slight breeze could blow her away.”

Hermione began to respond, but stopped abruptly when Severus looked at her.

“Am I her personal servant? You are her father; you should be helping her, Wendell,” responded a gruff Severus.

Hermione sighed rather heavily and glared at her father. “I can do it myself, thanks. I am not a complete invalid, I’ll have you know,” she replied, amused that everyone seemed to be fighting over who was going to help her.

“No, no,” replied Severus, moving his hands around in an exaggerated motion. "if you fell, I’d be blamed, and we can’t have that, can we? I need a place to stay, and this is as good as any. I’ll help you,” said Severus, sounding put-upon.

Hermione had to hide the grin with her hand; he was rather adorable when he was agitated.

Adorable?

Snape?

It was impossible to think the former could be used to describe the latter, yet, here she was doing so.

As reluctant as he looked and sounded, when Severus took Hermione’s arm, he was careful to walk slowly with her, and he guided her as if she were a small child who didn’t know their way. He didn’t say anything when she leaned against him, but when she almost fell, he did let out another sigh before picking her up and carrying her the remainder of the way into the bedroom, where he gently set her on the bed.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to regain her bearings. She hated feeling so helpless.

“Are you okay, Hermione?” asked Severus, his concern obvious. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Yes, he could get his memories back so he could make a potion for her — that’s what he could do. Hermione forced her eyes open and grimaced. “Despite what I said, I don’t think I can do this by myself. Would you help me?”

Half an hour later, Severus carried Hermione out to the sofa and laid her on it, then looked up at Wendell and Monica. “She says it should begin working soon, but I don’t know; she has been moaning for the past five minutes. I think we should take her to hospital.”

“NO!” Hermione said, her voice firm. That was the last thing she needed. “I’m not strong enough to do the magic myself, but with time the pain should lessen,” she added, opening her eyes. She watched as her mother came and sat beside her. She wanted her mother to make the pain go away. There had been a time not so long ago when she had been able to do that. Hermione wanted to go back to that time again.

“You should get some sleep, dear. You’ve had an exhausting day. Dol—er Severus usually sleeps on the sofa, but I’m sure he won’t mind you sleeping here tonight.”

Hermione heard a few mumbles, and she managed a smile. Yes, Severus did mind, but she knew he wouldn’t be sleeping on the sofa. She felt as a blanket covered her, then as someone kissed her forehead. “Sleep well, child. I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep.”

As she drifted off to sleep, she still felt the pain, but having her mother near seemed to make it somewhat more bearable.

When she next woke, it was to the soft roar of a fire in the fireplace, as well as the sound of Severus trying to Summon the book to him: he was all but whispering. She wondered what time it was; it was impossible to tell since the only window in the house was in the bedroom. There was a lone light burning near the kitchen, where Severus was intent on doing magic. He looked at the book with such intensity; again, Hermione found herself becoming entranced by the man who she didn’t know at all. Perhaps she should get to know him, but then, her luck — as soon as she did, he would regain his memories and hate her. No, best not do anything that would lead to more hurt; there was plenty of that as it was.

She could watch and study him, however, and she would, without him knowing, as she was now. If he knew that he was being observed… he would be most unhappy, especially since the only clothing he had on were blue jeans. It shocked Hermione at first, but then she figured that since this was his place of residence, he could wear what he liked. It was just odd for her to see him dressed as such. She found herself staring at his body, which was nothing at all what Hermione had envisioned it would look like — not that she had done much envisioning of Severus Snape’s body — but well, she and Ginny had mused over what lay beneath those robes on occasion. Where they had thought he would be rather muscular, he was rather lanky; he hadn’t much meat on his bones at all. It was odd, because his robes made him look voluminous, as if he had a robust body. The reality was quite different. Hermione smiled, thinking about telling Ginny that she had seen Severus Snape in nothing but an old pair of blue jeans.

Severus caught her looking at him. “If my level of dress this early in the morning assaults your female sensitivities, I should probably apologize, but I shan’t. This is what I wear when I sleep, and until I dress for the day ahead, this is what I shall wear,” said Severus as his eyes bore through Hermione.

“You wear blue jeans to bed?” was Hermione’s immediate response, then she thought she probably shouldn’t have asked; it was none of her concern.

“What do you think? Of course not, but even I have a modicum of respect for my hosts. I am quite certain they do not wish to see me parading around with nothing on, so I wake up rather early and put these on.” He then gave her a dismissive look and returned to his previous endeavor of getting the book to move.

Oh, well… that was quite a bit more information than Hermione had expected... or wanted to know. She had thought perhaps he might say he slept in his pants, but to think that he slept in the nude… well, that thought was… not entirely revolting, but, it did get rather cold at night in the winter, even out here in this part of Australia, so that aspect did surprise her. Did he sleep with a lot of covers? And where had he slept the previous night? And why did she care?

“If you are going to continue staring at me, Miss Granger, you are about to get a surprise,” dead-panned an amused Severus. “We don’t often get such pretty visitors this way. It’s been a while since…” he didn’t finish the sentence, but he smirked toward Hermione, then turned to walk the other direction, toward the kitchen.

Brown eyes opened wide, and a hand came up to her mouth. Had Severus just implied that she was giving him an erection? Certainly not! But there was no doubt that he had. Well, well, wasn’t this new Severus Snape full of surprises? Although, for all Hermione knew, her former professor could have been the same as he was now; perhaps he had been an exhibitionist who had had lovers parading to and from his dungeon rooms. For all she knew, he very well could have. Probably not, she mused. He was not a looker who she could see others clamoring to be with, but she had absolutely no idea about the life the man had led. “Er, sorry, didn’t mean to stare.” Hermione knew she was blushing, and really couldn’t be bothered to care, because there was nothing to be done for it.

“How are you feeling this morning? From the sounds you were making last night, it seems as though you didn’t sleep well,” Severus said as he walked over and sat across from her. He picked up a mug, took a sip, then sighed. “Tea. Monica is the only person I know who can make a cuppa the way I prefer it: strong, not that weak stuff that most people try to sell you.”

Hermione grinned. Yes, her mother had always preferred her tea on the strong side. “Is there any more?” Perhaps it was rude of her to ask, but she was thirsty, and a cuppa might be just the thing to get her moving. She watched Severus as he stood, entered the kitchen, then as he brought her a mug, the same as his.

“It’s hot; be careful,” he added as he handed it to Hermione.

She grinned and nodded. “I’m not a child. I can see the steam, thus I am well aware that it is hot, Severus,” replied Hermione, a smirk now on her face as she continued to stare at him as she took a small sip. Yes, it was still too hot to drink. “Thank you. I, too, prefer it strong,” she added as she set the mug beside Severus’s. When she looked back at him, she realized that she hadn’t answered his earlier question about how she was feeling. “I slept alright, I guess. My legs never stopped hurting, though, so I can’t say it was a restful sleep. What sort of noise was I making?” then asked a curious Hermione, wondering if she had been loud, and if she had been crying. Harry had woken her several times during the past month because she had been crying in her sleep.

“The only discernible word I heard was help, but you were also moaning quite a bit. I walked out not too long after I had gone to bed, and you were perspiring rather profusely. I found a flannel and tried to cool your face and neck. I gather that you don’t remember that,” Severus said, a bit of a blush on his face. Hermione smiled as she shook her head. “The cool flannel did seem to help, but as soon as I stopped, you began again. I contemplated remaining with you all night, but that would have been inappropriate, and I didn’t wish to upset either you, Monica, or Wendell.”

“What’s inappropriate about taking care of someone, Severus? It isn’t as if you were attempting anything.” As she waited for his response, Hermione picked up the mug and took another sip, this one going down with the familiar warmth and taste that she had missed for over two years.

“I’d rather we change the topic of conversation,” was his reply, sounding a bit uncomfortable as he looked behind him, toward the bedroom, as if checking to see if Wendell and Monica were about to exit.

Not wishing to upset him, Hermione shrugged her shoulders and nodded. “What happened to you? Why were you injured when you came here?” she then asked, not at all sure that this line of questioning would be any more answer-inducing than the last.

Severus leaned forward in his chair and took another sip of his tea, then set it beside Hermione’s as he looked up and looked at her, pity in his eyes. “Might I ask what happened to you to make your legs as they are?” It was asked very softly, almost tenderly.

Hermione might have known. Oh well, she guessed she’d eventually get to the bottom of Severus’s story. “I had an accident. In my world, in our world,” she amended, “we have what is called the Floo System. It is one of the modes of transportation wizards use; it involves the use of fireplaces. I was at the school I attended, the one you taught at; we were having a welcome-back celebration for the reopening of the school. I was in the Headmistress’s study, about to Floo to my friend's parents' house when I had this strange vision. I have no idea what it was now, but I know it frightened me. I then threw the Floo Powder into the fireplace and said what my destination was. That is the last thing I remember. My friend Harry found me lying just inside the fireplace at his parents’ former home in Godric’s Hollow, a place that has been abandoned for almost twenty years. I have no idea how he found me there, but he did. He won’t tell me the details, but I know that I had several broken bones, and that both knees had been shattered. All we can guess is that I somehow didn’t speak clearly enough and I ended up getting thrown out at the wrong Floo stop. Most of the time, that wouldn’t be a problem; you would just be at a wrong place, but if you are not concentrating on any particular place, you could find yourself stuck within the Floo System for hours, perhaps days. Since I had been scared seconds before I Flooed, we think that did something to me, and made it so my mind was not concentrating. Regardless, I was almost dead when Harry found me.” Hermione stopped, as she noticed Severus’s face becoming paler and paler. “Did I say something to upset you?” she asked, feeling badly for whatever she had said. She watched as he nodded, then as he opened his mouth. She had an idea what he was about to say might be rather important.

“You have no idea," said a frowning Severus as he sighed and looked around and shook his head. He then turned back toward her. "A little less than a year ago, I was arrested for trying to break into a home. I have no recollection of this, but according to the police, I was found in someone’s fireplace, unconscious. They concluded that I had somehow climbed down the chimney and fallen into the fireplace. I was, of course, covered in soot, and I had several broken bones. My condition was not at all different from yours. I was about to be deported back to England when Monica and Wendell came and rescued me. To this day they refuse to tell me what transpired to make them agree to take me in. When I ask, they tell me it is unimportant and that I have changed and that they trust me implicitly. I did hear one of them mentioning something about that man who told them about me, but I haven’t asked about that yet; for some reason, I don’t think they’d answer,” Severus finished, his voice now almost a whisper.

Hermione was shaking. She now knew, without a doubt, that there was something strange going on. Severus and she had more than likely both been in the same type of accident. And there was someone else who had sent Severus to her parents… the mystery was becoming more convoluted rather than less so, but Hermione knew that with each new piece of information received that she had a bit more to help her solve this mystery, and she would solve this mystery… with the help of Severus.

Chapter 4: Falling Facades

Title: Falling Facades: Chapter Four  
Author: MK Malfoy  
Characters: Severus/Hermione  
Rating: M  
Words: 3400 (this chapter)  
Summary: Hermione travels to Australia to bring her parents home, but finds more than just her parents waiting for her. Not epilogue-compliant  
Warnings: DH-compliant but not epilogue-compliant, perhaps some angst, explicit sex, spoilers for all of DH  
Disclaimer: I own none of what I write about; it is all Jo’s, Bloomsbury, Scholastic, Warner Bros, etc.

As best she could from her vantage point in the bath, Hermione inspected the small, dimly lit room as she felt around behind her for the submerged flannel. Her eyes perused the odd décor; there wasn’t much to see, but Hermione found that she preferred this room: the claustrophobic aura that had pervaded the three other rooms of the house didn’t extend to the bathroom, even though it was the smallest room in the house. Perhaps she liked the bathroom most of all because she knew that within the water of the bath, she’d find a temporary reprieve from the intense pain that riddled her damaged legs.

Warm baths had always been a welcome retreat for Hermione, especially during the past twelve months, and she sighed in contented relief as she allowed the warmth to envelop her. The feelings that ran through her, at least for a few seconds, were ones she lived for. She had tried explaining this brief euphoria to Harry and Ron: they hadn’t understood, but Hermione knew that neither of them had experienced life-altering debilitating pain that would probably be permanent. As such, there was no possible way that they would ever understand how even a brief reprieve, no matter how fleeting, gave her such pleasure. And, for now, until she could again perform the magic she needed, it seemed that this respite would be her only mode of coping with the pain, even if it did only last seconds.

Her hand closing around the soft flannel, she closed her eyes and placed the water-soaked, warm cloth on her sore right thigh and ran it the length of her leg, and allowed the soothing water to work its magic. She then opened her eyes and repeated the motions on her other leg as she watched day-old dirt give way to red, scarred, scaly, scabbed skin; it wasn’t a pretty sight.

Again turning her attention to the décor of the room, she compared it to the other rooms in the house, and wondered how anyone could live in such a small, secluded, house, far away from what she thought of as civilization, and be happy. It seemed so very desolate and lonely, and there were few lights within or outside the house, which meant that the tiny cottage was constantly dim, only lit with substandard light bulbs that were probably older than she was.

As she lifted her arm, she watched as her defined shadow played on the wall, as if another person were watching her, and frowned. It was an eerie sight, and she couldn’t wait until she was back in her familiar surroundings, with her brightly lit rooms where shadows reflected their name and didn’t figure quite so prominently.

This was a dreary place, to be sure, and Hermione thought that anyone who lived here would have to be unbearably depressed, yet her parents seemed perfectly content in their little white house in the middle of nowhere, as did Severus, although, that was not a surprise — he had lived in the dungeons at Hogwarts, after all.

Hermione grinned. Where she loved the light and being surrounded with people, Severus seemed a perfect match for the dark, lonely places that she did her best to avoid; it was as if he lived in the shadows of the world while she was the one who produced said shadows.

Forcing these dreary, hypnotic thoughts from her mind, Hermione’s eyes perused the basin and walls, and a small grin formed on her formerly frowning face. At least the person who decorated this room had had a sense of humor, she thought. Who in their right mind would ever paint a bathroom purple and have a pink bath and basin? It was ghastly, yet Hermione found herself liking it rather a lot, perhaps because the bright colors made the barely lit room look less oppressive.

Returning her thoughts to her current endeavor, she finished washing her legs, then cleaned the other parts of her body, trying to be as careful as possible. If she made it through the bath without shedding a tear, she would deem it a success.

Once she finished washing herself, she let the flannel go and watched as it sank below the surface and began its decent toward the bottom, then closed her eyes, leaned back, and allowed her head to go underwater. As she felt her hair flowing around her, she attempted to clear her mind and let the warmth of the steam-filled bathroom permeate her chilled body and mind.

These few moments never ceased to make her feel as though none of the past year had happened: being free and beneath the water, she imagined herself in a swimming pool, enjoying a warm, sunny, beautiful day with her friends and family. It was a wonderful daydream that Hermione hoped would one day come true.

A knock at the door.

A sigh. Hermione reluctantly pushed herself into a sitting position and ran her hands through her wet hair, wringing the excess water from the brunet locks. She looked at the door and wished that Severus would go away. He knew that she was trying to relax, so why was he interrupting her attempts at doing so. She hadn’t interrupted him when he had taken his bath. Now that she thought about it, however, she decided that if she were still here the following morning when he bathed, that she might do so then; it would be rude for her not to return the favor. She grinned. Well, she had to entertain herself somehow.

“Are you alright, Miss Granger? You’ve been in there a rather long time,” said Severus, sounding concerned. “I thought perhaps you needed help.”

Hadn’t she told him more than once to call her Hermione? She grabbed hold of the sides of the bath and stood, then stepped out of the bath onto the rug, careful not to fall. “I am fine, thank you. Do you need in here?” she asked, trying to hide the anger that her interrupted solitude had produced.

“No, I do not require the use of the loo, I was merely seeing if anything had happened to you. Take as long as you need,” was his reply as he walked toward the kitchen.

If only she could take as long as she needed. Hermione glanced back toward the water and thought about stepping into the bath again, but since she was already out, and had bathed, there was no sense in returning to the temporary comfort; it would merely delay the inevitable.

As she stepped into her knickers, she heard Severus opening a cabinet in the kitchen, then she heard him opening a drawer, then walking into the living room. It was such an odd image — Severus Snape being domestic; but that was unfair, and Hermione knew it. What had she expected? Him to sleep during the day and wake at night and go feast on innocent, unsuspecting damsels? He deserved a bit more respect than that.

Her treatment and thoughts of him aside, there was one fact that couldn’t be refuted: Severus Snape was a mystery to Hermione — he always had been — but nothing like the mystery he now presented her since he had no idea who he was. Perhaps that was for the best, as sad as that thought was. She knew that if he ever did remember his past, it would probably not be a happy occasion. As much as Hermione wanted her parents to recall who they were, she found herself thinking that it might be best if Severus Snape never recalled his past. Unfortunately, for him and her, she needed him to recall everything; he needed to remember what had happened to him before he’d been injured.

As it was, he had given her valuable information already, and now Hermione knew that there had been someone else involved with Severus ending up at her parents’ residence, and she knew that it hadn’t been a mere coincidence that her former professor ended up at the temporary home of her parents. She only hoped that he had more information for her, and she also hoped that she might succeed where Severus had failed: she wanted to get her parents to talk about the man who had led the two of them to Severus.

A few hours earlier, Hermione and Severus had been in the middle of their conversation regarding their injuries when Monica entered the room and requested Severus’s help with something, so they hadn’t had an opportunity to finish the conversation. Now would be the perfect time to do so: Wendell and Monica had gone into the nearest village to buy some items they needed, and were expected to be gone most of the day.

After stepping into a pair of jeans and pulling on a jumper, she pointed her wand at her hair, to dry it. Usually, she preferred to let it dry naturally, but it was rather cold out and she didn’t wish to catch cold. As she looked into the mirror, she frowned: she really did have frizzy hair. No matter what she did, nothing seemed to tame it. She again pointed the wand at her hair and soon it was wrapped in a twist. It was not the best, but her magic wasn’t exactly cooperating with her at the moment. She frowned, before turning to go find Severus.

She didn’t have far to look: he was seated on the bed, staring toward the window, and he looked distressed. Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to continue their talk. She was about to leave when Severus turned toward her, a picture in his hand.

“Who is this person?” he asked as he showed Hermione the picture. He was definitely upset.

As Hermione approached him and could see the picture more clearly, she sighed: it was Ron. Severus must have found it on the floor by the bathroom, where her belongings were gathered. She had thought perhaps it was a picture of someone Severus recognized; someone who had led him to her parents. “Oh, that’s Ron. He’s a friend of mine.”

“Did I know him from before?” he then asked as he brought his thumb and forefinger to his chin, as if in thought.

“Yes, you taught him. Are you remembering something from your past, Severus?”

He shook his head. “No, I thought I did, but I guess I must have been mistaken. I thought he looked like someone who I remember seeing soon after I came to live with Monica and Wendell, but how could it have been him? He has probably never even been to Australia, and what would he be doing here?”

Hermione glanced at the picture, then at Severus, and she had such a feeling of overwhelming sadness come over her. If this person were anyone other than Severus Snape, she would probably dismiss their thoughts, but she somehow knew that what he said had to be the truth, even if he didn’t know it.

No.

Not Ron.

She wanted to believe Severus — that he was mistaken — but she couldn’t, and she knew that Severus really didn’t even believe that the person in the picture was someone other than the one who he had seen: the look on Severus’s face had been such a sad one, and that look had returned. No, whatever Severus had remembered because of seeing that picture, it was an unhappy memory, and it had to do with Ron… but how, and why? Severus was once again frowning as he looked toward the window.

What was he thinking about? And again, why did Hermione care so much? She wanted to believe it was only because he was involved with her parents, but it was more… she genuinely cared about how Severus felt. She had only been around him for not even a day, and she cared… for Severus Snape. Merlin. She didn’t want to care. He had killed Dumbledore. Yes, it had been a merciful killing; Hermione knew that on some level, but she couldn’t forget the look on Harry’s face as he had recounted what he’d seen that night. It haunted Hermione, and she didn’t think she could ever care for someone who had caused such grief for her friend.

Yet, here she was, caring, and she knew that Harry would be okay with her caring. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. Careful not to disturb him, Hermione sat beside Severus and looked toward the direction his gaze was looking. “You didn’t much care for Ron; I think you thought he was an underachiever. He’s not… an underachiever. He’s really quite smart.” Severus turned and glared at her. Hermione closed her mouth. Perhaps silence should be the rule of thumb.

“And why are you telling me this? Not that I mean to offend your female sensitivities, Hermione, but I could care less about your little friend, Ron. All I care about is remembering why your friend seems to evoke such horrific memories.”

She tried to only nod and say nothing, but that was not her nature. “Perhaps he reminds you of the person who injured you,” Hermione said, trying to convince herself, and not succeeding. “He has that look about him.” Severus’s pointed look told her she was not doing any better at convincing him than she was herself. “He’s never been to Australia, Severus.” His look told her she was mistaken. “He didn’t like you, but he would never ever hurt you.” Hermione stood, hobbled over to the window, and looked toward the place Severus had told her they called the Wall of China. “You don’t know him. If you did, you would know he could never hurt anyone.” Hermione wiped away a tear and shook her head.

It was Ron. Ron had been the other person that Severus had told her about. Severus mightn’t remember, but Hermione knew it had to be him. But how, and why? She again wiped away the tears as they fell, and flinched and moved out of reach when a hand touched her shoulder. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Hermione, but I do recognize this Ron person. I wish I didn’t, but I do. Perhaps I am having a memory of the past and I am getting that memory mixed up with another one. That could very well be what has happened,” Severus said, his voice now much softer.

Hermione appreciated his attempts, but shook her head. “Thanks, but you can stop your lying, Severus. It was him. He was the man who made sure you ended up here with my parents.” She turned around and looked at Severus. “But I know Ron, and I know that he would never hurt you.”

“I believe you. And for all we know, your friend Ron could have been helping me after someone else hurt me. All I can remember is seeing him when I was injured. I associate him with my pain, but that doesn’t mean he is the one who made me hurt,” he added, his voice now even softer. “I’m sorry I upset you.” Then he touched her shoulder again, and again, Hermione backed up.

“Don’t. I think I need to be alone. I’m going to take a walk. I’ll be back later.”

“It’s cold out and you don’t need to be walking in your condition.”

Hermione glared at Severus. He was right, of course; she was in no condition to be out by herself. “I’ll be fine, thanks. I’ll not go far. I just need to get out of this house. I feel smothered in here.” And she did. How could her plans of a day earlier have morphed into the nightmare that she was currently experiencing?

“Then go, but I am going with you,” was Severus’s matter-of-fact response. “And don’t even try to argue. I said I was coming with you and I’m coming with you. I can tell that you are a person who usually gets your way. Not with me, you won’t.”

“Fine,” Hermione said, glaring, and receiving a glare in return. “You’re wrong, though. I do not always get what I want, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh? Did you not get your pet pony when you turned seven, or did you have to carry your own trunk to that school you said you went to and I taught at?”

Hermione ignored him and turned to leave the room. She made her way through the sitting room and to the door, jerked it open, and exited the oppressive house, only to enter the dreadfully cold winter day. She had thought it wasn’t quite as cold in this part of Australia in May, but she had been mistaken; it was freezing, and she had no coat on.

Then she did. She felt as a warm coat was wrapped around her, and she put her arms in the sleeves and immediately felt immensely warmer. Once the coat was securely buttoned, she stalked off ahead; leaving Severus behind. She could hear him swear, and it made her grin. It was payback. Yes, she was being completely irrational, but she thought she was entitled, at least for a few minutes. She was tired of being the proper, lovely Hermione Granger.

“You are a spoiled, stupid young woman who thinks she is above us mere mortals. Well, you’re not. I might be far beneath your standing, but obviously, I am far ahead of you intellectually,” called out Severus from behind.

Hermione stopped and carefully turned and looked at Severus. It was time for her to enlighten him with a bit more information about his past. “Yes, you are. You are extremely intellectual, Severus; you were our teacher. You didn’t know how to teach, but you did have loads of knowledge. You have no idea how much you have helped people. But, you have also hurt people. Intelligence does not exactly mean anything when you do not use it properly. Now I’d very much appreciate it if you would shut your mouth and let me walk in peace, that is unless you want me to shut it for you,” finished Hermione, breathing heavily.

“Oh?” said a smirking Severus. “And just how do you plan on shutting my mouth? I only know of one way, and I dare say that I never thought I’d get such an opportunity.” He then licked his lips and winked.

“You are incorrigible, you know. I am a witch; I can cast a charm to make you not be able to talk. And please, why would I want to kiss you? You could be my father.” She then turned back and began walking again but stopped when she didn’t hear Severus following her. She turned her head and watched as Severus returned to the house, his shoulders slumped.

She wanted to be happy that she was finally alone.

She was miserable.

As Severus entered the house, he looked back at her, and Hermione saw the sadness on his face. Why had she said that? Yes, it was true: he was far too old for her to ever even think about kissing, but what she’d said had been so very mean, not at all something Hermione — the old Hermione — would have said to anyone. This new person, however, the one in constant pain, seemed so much less concerned about other people’s feelings.

Sitting down on the cold, hard ground, Hermione put her head in her hands and cried.

She had upset Severus.

Ron was involved with Severus being here.

Her parents had no memories of having a daughter.

She was two-thousand miles away from anything familiar, her legs ached so badly that she was about to pass out, and she felt more alone than she ever had.

She placed her head on the ground and cried harder. The only other time she recalled crying this much was when they had buried Remus. She had stood beside Harry and watched as he tried his best to hold in his emotions, but he had been unable to do so, and had lain his head on Hermione’s shoulder and had cried, which had caused Hermione to lose control.

Hermione wished Harry were here now so she could lay her head on his shoulder.

Chapter 5: Falling Facades

Title: Falling Facades: Chapter Five  
Author: MK Malfoy  
Characters: Severus/Hermione  
Rating: M  
Words: 3,400 (this chapter)  
Summary: Hermione travels to Australia to bring her parents home, but finds more than just her parents waiting for her. Not epilogue-compliant  
Warnings: DH-compliant but not epilogue-compliant, perhaps some angst, explicit sex, spoilers for all of DH  
Disclaimer: I own none of what I write about; it is all Jo’s, Bloomsbury, Scholastic, Warner Bros, etc.

The door of the small house creaked open to reveal a muffled voice that was becoming louder with each passing second, and allowed the formerly dark interior and quiescent surroundings to come alive with light and sound; it immediately altered the atmosphere from one of solemnity to one of happiness. Such variance in the depressing surroundings — it was as if the sun had come out after a particularly ghastly storm — prompted a brooding Hermione to turn to see who was about to enter: it was her father, and she could see Severus behind him. They both looked to be chilled to the bone, and Hermione thanked Merlin that she was in the relative warmth of the house… but not for long. Along with the reintroduction of some sort of life within the small wood-frame structure, the biting wind made its way through the sitting room, into the kitchen, and she wrapped her arms around her and shivered; as much as she enjoyed the light that the open door allowed, the cold negated the benefit, and she wished they would close the door.

Hermione watched as her father entered the house, and smiled as his booming voice and shuffling steps sounded so very familiar to her. It would be easy to imagine he had just returned from the grocer and was bringing his wife and daughter an ice-cream.

If only…

He laughed, then Severus spoke, but whatever he said was lost in the gale of the wind as it roared through the thin walls and the window pane in the bedroom. Again, Hermione shivered; she missed England and Scotland, where it was more than likely mild, foggy, and rainy.

Her mother entered the sitting room from the bedroom, and smiled at her husband as she kissed him on the lips. Hermione grinned; she thought they looked so sweet together. They had never been shy about showing their love for each other in public, and Hermione now appreciated that fact, although, it had been cause for much embarrassment when she had been younger: No thirteen-year-old wanted to see their parents kissing in a public place — that was the height of betrayal for a child! Hermione smiled thinking about that as she watched her father placing his coat behind the door. Her mother handed him something, then turned toward the fireplace, a box of matches in her hand, a fact Hermione was quite pleased about — she hadn’t been able to warm up all day, and looked forward to a nice warm fire to sit by. Earlier, when she’d made a comment to her mother stating that fact, Severus had rolled his eyes and said something about dramatic damsels and how they usually got what they asked for. Hermione had replied sarcastically and Severus had stalked off, apparently to go pout, but before he’d left, he had given her a look that said turnabout was fair play.

And so it was. It seemed as though both she and Severus were trying to see who could best the other with insults. Usually, Hermione wanted to win at whatever she was doing; she needed to be the best. This one time, however, she thought she mightn’t want to win.

Still, Severus Snape had a way of grating on Hermione’s nerves to the point that she wanted to make him disappear.

As the door remained open, and as she continued to think about the day’s events as she watched her parents talk to each other, Hermione watched as late-afternoon daylight gave way to evening twilight. The sky was, as it had been the previous evening, beautiful, and it bathed the sitting room in strips of fading light, but in the kitchen, where she needed to see, there was now almost complete darkness, the main light-source coming from a small light bulb hanging from a string. There were two candles on the table that she had lit an hour earlier, and they helped, but not much.

Forcing herself away from the myriad of thoughts that were rummaging through her mind, she took a deep breath, then picked up the parchment that she had been working on for over an hour, to read it one final time before she sent it. This was her fourth version of the letter, and she was tired of writing… and thinking — it had taken a lot of her mental strength to compose the letter, and she had begun to wonder, not for the first time, if her injuries hadn’t affected her mental abilities in some small way. Her concentration was not at all what it had been before the accident.

Her father yawned as he entered the bedroom, and Hermione looked at the clock on the wall — it wasn’t that late, but she was exhausted. All she wanted to do was sleep, but she knew that she’d not be getting to bed anytime soon. As soon as her mother finished putting away the items she had brought home, she and her daughter were going to talk, and Hermione had several questions that needed answering. She looked up when she heard Severus walk inside, then grinned when she heard Severus and her father talking. It all seemed so very normal, yet it was extremely odd, and Hermione shook her head, not quite believing that she was a party to this most unusual scene. Severus said something about the temperature getting too cold soon so they needed to go now. Her father agreed and retrieved his coat once again. Hermione wondered where the two were going.

When the door shut a few seconds later, she returned her attention to the letter that had to be perfect:

 

Dear Ron,

I am going to ask you a question and I want the truth. Did you have anything to do with Severus Snape ending up at my parents’ house here in Australia? The truth, Ron! If you lie to me, I’ll never speak to you again. If you had anything at all to do with this, please come to my parents’ house in Australia — you’ll know where they are.

If you haven’t a clue as to what I am referring to and if you think Severus Snape should be dead, then that will relieve me, but I am guessing you are going to know about this. I am very disappointed in you, Ronald Bilius Weasley.

Hermione

 

Satisfied that she had written everything she needed to, Hermione forced herself to calm down — as she had told herself when she began writing the letter, becoming overly upset wouldn’t do her any good, although, how was she supposed to be calm? If Ron had been the one to bring Severus to her parents, she wasn’t sure there would be a reason that would be good enough for him not to have told her, especially since she and Ron were supposedly together. Well, they hadn’t been together in almost six months, but they did still go out on occasion. At any rate, this would be unforgivable in Hermione’s eyes. Yes, perhaps Ron had saved Severus’s life, but why leave him without any memories? And what about Severus’s injuries?

It just didn’t make sense. But, then again, she couldn’t jump to conclusions. She would have to wait for answers… some of which she was about to recieve. She smiled as her mother handed her an envelope after she started the fire. “Thanks,” she said as she folded the parchment and placed it within the envelope. After sealing it with her wand, she looked up at her mother and sighed, trying not to look too distraught.

“Don’t look so sad, dear, I am sure all will work out,” said Jean Granger, her voice soft and kind as she sat across from Hermione. “I am sorry that you are so distressed. Severus has filled me in on what has happened today. I gather you want to ask me about the young man in the picture?”

Setting the letter on the table, and wishing she had an owl who could carry it to Ron, immediately, Hermione nodded. “Yes. Do you recognize him?” Her mother nodded, and Hermione felt her heart sink a bit more. “I need to know everything, please,” Hermione then said, trying not to sound too desperate. Again, her mother nodded, and added another understanding smile.

“What I have to tell will take a while. Wendell and Severus will be out for a few hours, so we will not be interrupted. Perhaps we should have this conversation in the sitting room. You need to prop your legs up on the ottoman.”

Once the two were settled comfortably, Hermione took a few shallow breaths as she studied her legs. They hadn’t been overly painful for the past few hours, probably because she had slept for six straight hours. Regardless, she hoped they would continue to cooperate. Sooner, rather than later, she knew they would be more painful than ever, and she needed to ask her mother several questions before that happened. Her mother looked toward the door, then looked at Hermione, sadly, a look that didn’t foretell good news.

“Before I begin, Hermione, I must ask: how are you feeling? Severus said you had a rather emotional morning. Did he say anything that upset you? I gather that he did.”

Oh how she wished she could say that he had upset her, but the truth wasn’t as such. “No, I am afraid it was I who did the upsetting. I said some rather harsh words to him, and when I saw the hurt on his face, it seemed to bring all of my past day’s disappointments to the forefront and I began to cry. If not for Severus, I would have stayed outside and caught cold. He carried me in, laid me on the bed, covered me, and sat beside me until I fell asleep.” Hermione was troubled thinking about Severus's actions. He was genuinely trying to help her, and she seemed intent on hurting him. Yes, the man that he had once been, and really was, possibly wouldn’t deserve any sympathy, Hermione mused, but this person, did. It wasn’t so easy to understand. Hermione needed her mother to tell her what was going on; she wanted her mother to explain to her why this was happening. What she really needed and wanted was to be able to turn back the clock two years, but that wasn’t going to happen. She watched as her mother’s smile turned into something else... pity, perhaps.

“Yes, and he remained there from the looks of things,” Hermione’s mother replied, a smile on her face. “He was there when we arrived home. He was sleeping, his head beside yours, his hand on your hand. Wendell and I didn’t know what to think,” she then added, her voice sounding unsure, “but as Wendell said, you are both adults, so whatever you do is none of our business,” she finished saying, a grin on her face.

Hermione opened her mouth and shook her head vociferously, and she knew she had to be blushing at her mother’s remark. How could she think that… “Oh, no, he was a perfect gentlemen, honestly. He didn’t try anything, and if he would have, I would have put a stop to it,” she added as an afterthought. She couldn’t have her hosts/parents thinking that she had a thing for Severus and that they needed to worry about the two of them doing inappropriate things in the dead of night… or in the light of day. Merlin… how could anyone think that she and Severus…

“That’s good to hear, dear. Severus, I would trust with my life, and I am quite certain he would treat you as wonderfully as you deserve to be treated, but you are but a child; you need someone closer to your own age.”

Initially, Hermione grinned — that was her mother speaking — but, after further thought, the grin turned into a frown. Why did she need someone closer to her own age? Wasn’t she mature? Hadn’t people always told her that? Why must people conform to what others thought? If she wanted to be with an older man, then why shouldn’t she?

“…Ron, worked for us…”

Hermione caught the name Ron, and her thoughts had to switch gears, and fast. Obviously, her mother had decided to change the topic of discussion. Hermione smiled, but it was not a completely happy one; it was just like a parent to bring up something irritating, then change the subject without giving their child the opportunity to respond. Hermione was frustrated. However, this — whatever her mother was going to say about Ron — was the information Hermione had been waiting for. Thoughts of Severus and older men would have to wait.

“… last May. My husband had suffered a back-injury the year before and could no longer lift anything heavy. We were desperate to find someone to help us prepare for winter, when this young man appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. He was a wonderful help; wouldn’t allow Wendell to do any manual labor, and he was also a great help in the house. He worked here from six in the morning until seven at night, but he slept elsewhere. We never knew where he stayed, and we never asked. It didn’t seem any of our business.

“One day, he asked if he could leave early, and I said yes. He looked quite distressed, so I asked if everything was okay. He shrugged his shoulders and said he hoped so, but said nothing further. The following day he swore me to secrecy, then told me a story that I’ll never forget. I guess I should preface this by saying that we are extremely protective of Severus, Hermione, and have not been at all honest with anyone about him for fear that he’d be taken away. So if we have told you untruths about him, that is why. It was not meant for you, just only to keep him safe. That said, let me continue with what your friend told me that day. He told me everything about Severus, except his real name and that he was a wizard, of course. He said he had been severely injured by a snake bite, but that that wound had almost healed, but that he had been in another accident, but the people who found him thought he was trying to break into their house. Ron was emphatic that this had not been the case. I have no idea why I believed him, but I did. He told me that there were people looking for Severus and that they would kill him if they found him. He never asked Wendell and me to help Severus, but I know he wanted to. My husband and I said we’d like to help. Ron said we’d only have to help for a few weeks because a friend of Severus’s would come to get him. He seemed quite evasive when he said this. I am now guessing he was speaking of you. Unfortunately, you must have had your accident before you could come…”

Her mother was still speaking, but Hermione had stopped listening. Ron had sent Severus here for her to find him? Why? It didn’t make any sense. Then again, none of this made sense. She glanced at her mother, who was now studying her quite intently. “If I hadn’t been injured I would have discovered Severus living with you a year ago. But I don’t understand why Ron would have wanted me to do that.” There were so many other things that Hermione didn’t understand: like why had Severus’s injuries healed and why hadn’t hers? Her mother gave her an understanding smile.

“You don’t? I do, dear. You don’t put up with anything from Severus, yet it is quite evident that you care. Not for him per se, but just that you care. You seem to be quite an empathetic person and I think your friend, Ron, thought you might be able to help Severus. I am guessing you are aware that he isn’t exactly the easiest person to get along with,” her mother added, a slight grin as she shook her head.

It was now Hermione’s turn to smile. “Yes, that, I am quite aware of, but what you don’t know is that my friend could hardly stand Severus. And I am not being overly dramatic when I say that. Ron loathed Severus Snape. Why in the world would he want to help him?”

“I don’t know, Hermione, but he did. You need to ask him.”

“I shall. If he had anything to do with this, I am guessing he’ll be making an appearance sooner, rather than later. Er, you won’t mind if two of my friends show up for a bit, will you? They can stay outside in a tent; they’re quite accustomed to tents,” she finished, grinning, thinking of all the nights they spent camping out in the wood and forests.

“They are welcome to stay in a tent, or inside. I need to speak to Wendell, of course, but I am sure he will agree with me.”

There were so many other questions, but Hermione could tell that her mother looked tired, so she decided they could wait for another time. She picked up the letter to Ron and looked at it.

“Severus will mail that in the morning,” said her mother.

Three hours later, Hermione sat with Severus outside, under the stars. It was bitterly cold, much more so than it usually was, according to her father, but the cold seemed to help her legs, so she would stand the cold, as well as the awkwardness that sitting by Severus caused. She couldn’t forget the look in his eyes from earlier when she had hurt his feelings. He seemed to have forgotten about it, or at least moved on, but Hermione was having a difficult time doing so, especially since she was now overly aware of him, more than she had been before, and she was beginning to notice that he wasn’t so bad. He was actually quite caring. But he was still old, and that, Hermione could not controvert.

“I can’t recall anything about your friend, Hermione. I don’t understand how Monica and Wendell know so much, and I, so little.”

As Severus spoke, Hermione turned toward him, startled out of the silence that had settled over them. He looked sad again, or maybe it was more of a lost look. Whichever it was, Hermione didn’t like it. He shouldn’t be so lost and not remember. He needed to know that he was a very able wizard. “You seem to forget that you aren’t dealing with mere mortals as you put it, although we are very much mortal, Severus. Ron is a wizard. If he wanted you to not remember him, then he would have performed magic to make that happen.”

“Will you help me relearn how to perform magic, Hermione?” he then asked, looking at her, his eyes pleading with her, his voice, soft, yet firm, as if he had decided that this was something he had to do.

Hermione opened her mouth, unsure how she should respond. She wanted to say no, but the look on his face... “I’ll… try, but I haven’t the slightest clue how to do so,” she said, hesitantly, entirely unsure that she could do this.

“All you can do is try,” he added, his voice a whisper as he then returned his gaze upward.

Hermione nodded as she, too, returned her gaze toward the twinkling stars. “I should apologize for what I said this morning, Severus. I was in pain and it was very insensitive of me to say such a thing.” It was a rather lame attempt at an apology, but she had to say something. She glanced at Severus and watched him shrug his shoulders as his dark, penetrating eyes turned downward and focused solely on her. She flinched, and silently cursed herself when he sighed and shook his head — he had seen the small movement she’d made; he didn’t miss a thing, and Hermione wanted to scream. She tried to remind herself that somewhere in the body of this other man resided someone whom had never spared her sensitive nature, so why should she, his, but that didn’t work. Like it or not, this was another person, and he hadn’t done one thing to hurt her, and she had done much to hurt him.

“Yes, Hermione, what you said to me was indeed insensitive,” said a matter-of-fact Severus, his voice strong, deep — reminiscent of the old Snape. “The truth often hurts us, but lies do nothing but delay our ability to accept the inevitable, Miss Granger.” Severus gave her a curt nod, stood, and walked toward the house.

Chapter 6: Falling Facades

Title: Falling Facades: Chapter Six  
Author: MK Malfoy  
Characters: Severus/Hermione  
Rating: M  
Words: 5,240 (this chapter)  
Summary: Hermione travels to Australia to bring her parents home, but finds more than just her parents waiting for her. Not epilogue-compliant  
Warnings: DH-compliant but not epilogue-compliant, perhaps some angst, explicit sex, spoilers for all of DH  
Disclaimer: I own none of what I write about; it is all Jo’s, Bloomsbury, Scholastic, Warner Bros, etc.

Dear Hermione,

Please don’t be upset with me. Yes, I am the one who made sure Snape ended up at your parents. It’s a long story, one that Harry says you’ll probably find difficult to believe. I think I have to agree, but it’s all true. I don’t want to write the details in this letter, so I’ll be at your parents’ house as soon I can, probably not long after you receive this letter. I’m bringing Harry and another person with me. Ask your mum and dad if that’s okay.

Ron

 

Hermione reread the words on the parchment and said a rather crude curse word under her breath. Such a revelation was not at all a surprise — she’d had five days to come to terms with the idea that Ron probably had been the one responsible for what had happened — but still, seeing the proof rather jolted her and made her question if she really knew whom Ron was. She thought she had — she and he had been through a lot together, and she’d thought he was an open-book where she was concerned. Now she knew differently, and it wasn’t at all a good feeling. She felt cheated.

About to read the letter again, she heard someone approach the bedroom, so she tucked the parchment underneath one of the pillows and looked up to see her father looking at her, his expression no different than the ones her mother and Severus had used when they enquired how she was doing earlier in the day. They all felt sorry for her and, for that matter, Hermione was beginning to feel sorry for herself, but she loathed pity from others and couldn’t bear to see such sad looks on the faces of people she loved.

“Are you feeling any better?” her father asked as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Severus said you aren’t having a good day.”

Hermione shook her head as she looked toward the window, where the sun was trying to break through the thick clouds. It looked so peaceful out there — even the birds seemed to have taken a break from their usual twittering, and she thought that she might go sit outside and think after they had lunch. “I’m in a fair bit of pain, but I just got word that my friends Ron and Harry, along with someone else, will be here soon, that is, if you and your wife don’t mind,” Hermione added, fervently hoping that her father wouldn’t mind. She didn’t think he would, but this person was still a mystery to her, just as much as she was a mystery to him.

“That will be fine, Hermione; my wife and I would be happy to meet your friends, and they can sleep in the sitting room by the fire; it is far too cold for them to be staying outdoors, even if they have done that in the past,” he added when Hermione opened her mouth.

She grinned, happy that her mother had already spoken to her father about this. She still marveled at how very accepting her parents were of her, but she didn’t question their actions; she merely felt grateful. She nodded. “Harry’s the one who helps me set my magic, so perhaps he can help. I hope so, because I don’t think I can take this much longer.” And as if to punctuate that statement, she groaned when a particularly sharp pain shot through her leg. The pain this time was enough to bring tears to her eyes. She closed them, hoping her dad would leave; she didn’t want him to see her like this. Instead of leaving, immediately, however, she felt him kiss her forehead, then he did leave the room. What had been a steady stream, now overflowed and she allowed the tears to fall, unhindered. It was all too much to take.

She didn’t understand. She had thought perhaps her magic would strengthen with rest, but it hadn’t, and in fact, she felt weaker now than she had five days earlier. There was something going on, and she was beginning to think it had more to do with the house and less to do with her. Perhaps Harry would be able to help in that respect as well. Whatever happened, if the pain didn’t subside, Hermione knew that she was on her way to a one-way-ticket to St. Mungo’s.

She heard footsteps — familiar ones — and she sighed, not really wanting to talk to Severus, yet wanting to: He continued to baffle her with his ever-changing demeanor. At times, it seemed as though the old Snape had returned, his words biting and calculating, then he would say something tender and almost nice to shatter the illusion. Hermione thought that she should be frustrated by this behavior, but as the days passed, she noticed that she was becoming more accustomed to the changes. Another development, this one not so welcome, was that she found herself drawn to him more and more; it didn’t at all help that the words her mother had told her days earlier kept replaying in her head: that Severus was too old for her and that she needed someone closer to her own age.

Had her mother never made those statements, Hermione knew that she’d more than likely not be thinking of Severus as much as she was now, but her mother had said those words, and now Hermione was thinking about Severus Snape. It was completely maddening, because Hermione wasn’t sure if her thoughts were truly her own or if she was simply trying to go against what her mother considered sage advice. She knew she needed to hurry up and figure these thoughts out because she was walking on precarious ground. She knew what Severus thought, and perhaps what he wanted. If she wasn’t careful, two people could get hurt… all because she was trying to be defiant.

A knock on the door, then Severus cleared his throat as he stood in the doorway. He had begun doing this whenever he entered a room she was in, as if to warn her of his presence. Her tears slowed as she glanced up at him, but they made it virtually impossible for her to see Severus. He sat on the bed next to her and she could smell his familiar scent: he didn’t smell of potions, cinnamon, or spices: He smelled of vanilla, and it never ceased to calm her for some reason. Severus knew this, and Hermione thought he might be taking advantage of such information, but at this point, she could care less if he were. If he could cull the pain in her legs by sleeping with her, by Merlin, she would ask him to do that! A slight blush rose to her face at this thought and as she remembered that all she had on was a thin nightshirt that barely covered her knickers. She felt like covering herself, but the thought quickly passed; he had seen her like this before, and she really couldn’t be too bothered at the moment; the pain was becoming worse. Besides, if Hermione knew one certainty about Severus, it was that no matter what he might want or think, he acted completely gentlemanly around her, a fact she very much appreciated.

“Monica said you seem to be getting worse. I want to try something, that is, if you’ll allow me,” said Severus, sounding very sure of himself, quite a deviation from the meek-sounding person he had been when they’d talked two hours earlier, when he had been nursing his emotional wounds and making Hermione feel completely horrid.

As Hermione opened her mouth to respond, another pain began in her left thigh and traveled to her knee, and the pain was so bad that Hermione leaned over the side of the bed and was sick. She began crying hysterically. What was she going to do?

“It’s going to be okay, Hermione. Shh. It’s going to be okay,” repeated Severus as he went into the bathroom, got a flannel, cleaned her up, then picked her up and carried her into the sitting room by the fire. He sat down on the floor with her, but didn’t let her go; in fact, he began running his hands through her hair as he made soothing noises.

Hermione did feel extremely awkward now and could feel that the lower part of her stomach was exposed, but she couldn’t be bothered with such a trivial thing. She thought she was about to be sick again. She leaned into Severus’s chest and clung to him, as if an infant whose mother was trying to pry her from their breast. More tears began to fall, and Severus wiped them away with his thumb.

“Shhh,” he whispered.

Hermione allowed his smell and voice to calm her. The pain still hurt as bad as it had, but she did feel somewhat comforted, and tried to allow Severus’s presence to become the anesthesia she needed to cope.

“Two nights ago I had a dream, Hermione,” Severus began, his voice soft and melodic. “The details are somewhat unclear, but in the dream, I was leaning over someone, and chanting, almost in a singing voice. I remember touching them. Whomever I was leaning over then sat up and thanked me. I can’t be certain, but I think I healed them,” finished Severus, his voice uncertain. “Do you think this could be a memory about my past?” he asked, as he continued to run a hand through her hair and wipe her tears away with his other thumb.

Hermione opened her eyes and nodded, but she wasn’t certain if Severus had seen it; she was too comfortable to make any sudden movements. She whispered the word yes, then nodded a bit more noticeably. Yes, Severus had healed Draco Malfoy’s wounds. He’d still had scarring, but the deep wounds and slashes had been healed almost completely.

Of course… why hadn’t Hermione thought of this before?

She felt like hugging Severus, but she didn’t dare, and just because he had healed Draco Malfoy almost three years earlier didn’t mean he could do the same with her. He didn’t even recall that he was a wizard, so how was he supposed to heal her?

Severus cleared his throat and brought Hermione out of her deep thoughts. She still didn’t want to move, but she decided that she had no choice; this was important. She opened her eyes, pulled back somewhat so she could look into his eyes, and again nodded. “Yes, it is a memory from your past. You did heal someone.” Now Hermione did smile. At least she had a glimmer of hope.

Severus returned the smile. “I had hoped you would say that. I’ve been reading that book you gave me on the theory of magic, about how it is our intent that is behind most everything we do. I’ve been practicing doing what you have told me and I think it is helping. This morning I finally got the book to come to me. Now that I know I healed someone in the past, I want to see if I can help lessen your pain. I know it says that healing is one of the most complex forms of magic, but I have a feeling that I was once good at it. Perhaps I am mistaken, but I would very much like to try. Would you allow me to do that?”

Hermione studied Severus: His eyes and expression were now rather expressionless, a bit more like the Snape she knew. Maybe that other person really was coming back to her… or coming back to himself. As startling as that thought was — him remembering how he once was, and how he had not much liked her, Hermione had to remember that this man wanted to help her, and regardless of whom he had been or whom he might be again in the future, she was going to let him. She nodded.

As her mother did, Hermione thought she would trust Severus with her life. It was odd, yet it was what it was.

“I need you to close your eyes,” were Severus’s next words, said authoritatively. “Do not open them until I say so,” he added, in a much softer tone, as his hands reached out and touched her right calf.

Next thing Hermione heard was a humming sound, then she could hear him speaking words; it was melodic, sort of like a chant. He did this for about five minutes, then did the other calf. Next, he asked her if he could do the same to her thighs and she gave her permission. It was a bit awkward when he reached for the top of her thighs — his fingers traveled to the band of her knickers, but didn’t go inside of them. His hands were warm and tender. She did feel somewhat self-conscious that he could see so much of her, but she knew it would be worth it if it helped. Ten minutes later, she turned on her stomach and Severus repeated the entire process. When he was finished, she felt drained, and thought he probably did as well. He carried her into the bedroom and placed her under the covers, then sat down beside her on the bed and caressed her cheek. Hermione leaned into the long fingers and craved the touch.

“Sleep, now. Just sleep,” Severus said. “I am about to do some other healing chants while you sleep. I don’t know if they will help, but I think they will.”

Hermione could hear Severus chanting, but the words became less and less clear and she became sleepier and sleepier, but as she fell into sleep, she felt herself feeling better than she had in over a year, and she felt herself as she fell, but this time she didn’t fall into a foreign Floo.

When she awoke, it was to familiar faces: Harry’s eager, friendly, and easy-going one; Ron’s goofy, confident, and loving one, and… and… Hermione frowned. Draco Malfoy? His face, she was sure, reflected her own.

She had known for a year that Malfoy had been acting against his will when with the Death Eaters, but what in Merlin’s beard was he doing here? She was about to ask that very question when she saw Severus leaving the room; his head bowed, his shoulders slumped. Uh oh. What had they said to him? Had they made him mad? Was he upset? Hermione wanted to call out to him, to ask him to come talk to her, but she couldn’t, not now. She wanted to thank him for helping her; she was not pain-free, but she did feel quite a bit better than she had, but again, now wasn’t the time, so she turned her attention back to the three who were currently looking at her as if she were wearing the tiara that had caused the explosion at the Lovegood’s house. She frowned back. As of yet, no one had spoken.

“Malfoy was the one who talked Ron into saving Snape, Hermione,” were the first words anyone spoke, and they were Harry’s. “Ron asked me to tell you the story; he is too upset and nervous to tell you himself; he is scared of losing you,” he then added as he glanced to his right, where Ron was standing, looking as if he would rather be anywhere other than where he was. He looked petrified.

As he should, Hermione thought, still frowning. She nodded her head. She didn’t think she could talk if she tried; there was a lump the size of Greenland in her throat as she looked at her two best friends. She had missed them so very much. It had only been a week, yet it seemed an eternity since she had last seen them. She thought Harry looked a bit bigger, as ludicrous as that was. And Ron looked ill, but then again, the circumstances being what they were, how else would he look? Then there was Draco Malfoy, who looked… serene, very unlike what he had looked like the last time Hermione had seen him, at the Ministry when his father had been sentenced to fifty years in Azkaban for his activities as a Death Eater. That day he had looked as Ron did today. “Go on, I’m listening,” she finally managed to say. She looked at Harry and took a deep breath, hoping he had a good explanation.

“I don’t know some of the details, so Draco or Ron will have to fill you in on those, but I'll tell you what I know," Harry said as he once again looked at Ron, who nodded and looked as if he were about to be sick. Harry then returned his attention to Hermione. "After we went to bed that night after the final battle, Ron went down to the Shrieking Shack to see if Snape was really dead, and found Draco there with him. Snape wasn’t dead; in fact, he was sitting up. He looked quite ill, but he wasn’t dead. As you are well aware, Ron, you, and me had found out by this time the real reason Voldemort had wanted Snape dead, and we all knew a lot about Snape’s past. I still think Ron rather loathed Snape, even knowing all of this, but he did know that Snape wasn’t as bad as we had previously thought. Draco was desperate; he grabbed Ron and said they had to save Severus’s life somehow. I think Ron still didn’t care one way or the other if Snape lived or died, but Draco pleaded with Ron to help him; he said that Death Eaters would come finish Severus off and that was no way for anyone to die. Ron didn’t like the idea of saving Snape, but he agreed, and once he agreed, he was the one who came up with the idea to send Snape to your parents’ house. He won’t tell me how he knew how you had done the complex charms, but he practiced, and that is how he got Snape to Australia. He—”

“Some practice, I’d say,” Hermione retorted, her voice full of venom. “He was injured Flooing here, did you know that, Ron?” she said, looking at Ron. “You did, didn’t you? You came here to find him and you found him injured. What did you do to him, Ron?” asked a furious Hermione. How dare he! And how dare Ron make Harry be the one to do the talking. It was quite obvious that Harry had memorized what he was going to say. It was a childish way out for Ron, and Hermione planned on letting him know just how she felt about him using Harry in such a way.

“I didn’t do anything to him, Hermione, I promise,” was Ron’s reply, his voice shaking. He then looked to Harry, as if asking for help. Harry merely shrugged his shoulders and looked at his friend sympathetically. I know that you and Snape both suffered the same injury, and you know that I'd never do anything to harm you, Hermione," Ron added, his voice panicky.

Hermione forced herself to sit up, and had to cover herself when she noticed that the duvet had slid down, revealing a bare mid-drift. Ron had seen a lot more than that, but at the moment, she didn’t want him to see anything, and she thought he’d probably never get the chance to see anything else ever again. “Yes, we did suffer the same injuries. How could that have happened, Ronald? What did you do?” she asked, ignoring his last statement.

As she was about to say something else, she had a thought, and it at least gave her some small comfort, and made her smile. At least she now knew why Severus had healed quickly. He was probably a natural healer and had healed himself over time. But then that thought left and she returned her attention to Ron. “I want to know everything. You start at the beginning and you tell me everything, Ron! You tell me why it is that when you and I have been intimate and have talked of marriage and having babies together, that you have decided that I should be kept in the dark about this? This involved me, you arse! My parents were taking care of Severus, and you knew that! You knew that I wanted to come to my parents, yet you watched me suffer for months and months. So now, I want an explanation,” she finished, her face red in anger, but at least the tears had stayed away, probably because she had cried them all out earlier, with Severus.

“I wanted to tell you, Hermione, really, I did, but—”

“But what, Ron? What made you not tell me? Tell me! I want to know! I want to know what was so bloody important that you couldn’t say anything to me!” Now she was crying, and she shook her head when Ron tried to reach out and touch her. “No, you leave me the hell alone, Ronald Weasley. I want you to tell me why you did this then I want you to get your arse out of here. I can hardly stand to look at you. You have no idea how much pain I have been in this year. I just can’t believe you would do this to me,” she finished as she put her head in her hands.

“Hermione, Ron is telling the truth; he didn’t hurt Severus or you. I can tell you what really happened that day. It’s my fault,” said Malfoy, his voice sounding desperate, as it probably was.

Hermione looked up and glared at Malfoy. “Did I ask you to tell me what happened? I don’t think I did, did I? I want Ron to tell me why he did what he did.” She didn’t miss the commiserating look that Malfoy gave Ron. “So tell me, Ron. I’m waiting, and I don’t think you should rely on your friends to do your talking; it’s really quite childish, you know.”

“I had no choice. I had to keep this from you, Hermione," Ron said, his voice, unapologetic. “I sent Snape to your parents and didn’t think there would be any problems. I was wrong, and because of it, your parents’ lives were in danger, as was Snape’s. I couldn’t tell anyone what had happened. Hell, I’m still worried that we're in danger. You have no idea what's going on, Hermione.”

Were they in danger? Hermione panicked, but only briefly. She needed to get to the bottom of this. “What problems arose, Ron? Did you send him to the wrong coordinates, is that it? Did your magic not work for you?” she replied, rolling her eyes.

“I don’t know the story as well as Draco, but seeing as how you refuse to let him talk, I’ll try my best. I should have told you this earlier; it would have prevented you going off on me like you did."

Oh. No, he hadn't just said that. Hermione opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, but Harry shook his head, and Hermione sighed, but decided not to say anything. She instead returned her glare to Ron and gave him a look that said he should continue if he wanted to someday have children.

"As to why you and Severus were both injured in the same manner: Draco's father, as you know, was wanted by the Aurors. The day that they went to arrest him, Kingsley had the Floo system temporarily shut down to prevent him and any other Death Eaters from escaping. This was highly-illegal, but of course that didn’t stop Kingsley from doing it. Of course, we found out why it was illegal — you and Snape just so happened to be Flooing for the few minutes that the Floo System was offline. There is no telling how many others were injured as well. And the reason we couldn’t tell you was that there are a band of Death Eaters here in Australia and they know where this house is. They can’t get to it because it is under Fidelius, but they have been hovering over it, waiting. I bet you didn’t know that they almost got your mother the other day when your parents were out. If it hadn’t been for Pansy Parkinson, they would have. She is a Death Eater now, but she, for who knows what reason, led the three Death Eaters away from where she was.” After he finished, he glanced toward Harry, who gave him a slight nod. Draco was looking straight ahead, not looking at anyone.

Hermione was unable to speak. That was a lot to take in, and she knew there was a lot more to be told; it didn't make any sense, or perhaps she was too exhausted to understand. At any rate, her head was about to explode. “Did you know about why I was hurt and not tell me?” She couldn’t believe Ron would have kept this from her.

“No, Hermione! How could you even think that? I love you!" replied Ron, his voice now showing the first signs of emotion. "I had no idea about the Floo System being shut down; no one did, other than certain Ministry officials. Draco found out and had been sworn to secrecy, but when I received your letter, he told me what happened. When he told me, I was so overcome with anger that I hit him; gave him a black eye, I did.” He smirked as he glanced over at Malfoy. “He deserved it; for all those years he was such a git.” Malfoy didn't so much as flinch at the insult.

And the mystery kept getting murkier and murkier. Ron was halfway joking about Malfoy, and Malfoy was taking it? What was she missing? “Go on.”

“The day Snape and you had your accidents, I had sent Snape to Australia. Well, he actually went a few other places first, but it was on his last Floo trip that the Ministry closed the World-Wide-Floo System, and he was hurt. He and I had already agreed that he would contact me when he arrived. At that point, he still had all of his memories. I knew that I'd have to Obliviate him at some point, but he was still rather weak from Nagini's venom, so I didn't think I needed to alter his memories just yet. When he hadn't contacted me within forty-eight hours, I came to Australia to find him. It took me several days, but I did. He was fit to be tied, I tell you. He was, of course belligerent and demanded I send him back to Scotland. I was desperate. He was hurt and I was partly to blame. I knew if we could just find your parents that they could help him heal. I performed the same charm on him that you performed on your parents, and when I brought him to your parents, I also renewed the memory charms that had been placed on them. I was afraid the Death Eaters would somehow find out what Draco and I had done, and I didn’t want your parents ending up dead because of what we had done. Hermione, I really am sorry. I had to keep this from you. Had anything bad happened to your parents because of us putting Severus with them, I would have never forgiven myself. And as I said, we are all still in danger; we are not safe here.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. His explanation sounded feasible, and yes, she had been foolish enough to tell Ron how she had performed the complex charms on her parents. However, his explanation wasn’t good enough. “I thought I knew you, Ron. I bared my body and soul to you, and allowed you to make love to me. You had no right to keep this from me.” It hurt that she loved him so much, yet he obviously didn't love her enough to have told her.

“But Hermione, they—”

Hermione slid over to the edge of the bed and stood, precariously, but she was standing, nonetheless, and she hobbled over to Ron and got in his face. “They are my parents, Ron!” she screamed. “You had no right! We could have made sure nothing bad happened to them.” Now Hermione was enraged. How dare Ron… “Get out, all of you,” she whispered as she turned toward the bed and began walking toward it. I don’t want to talk to any of you for a few hours. I need to calm down before I get myself too worked up. Please send Severus in, Harry,” she added as she climbed into the bed and pulled the duvet up over her legs. The three didn’t make a move to leave. Hermione glared, but felt herself calming down, which she was pleased about. Being irrational was not going to help. “All of this — it was to protect my parents?” All three nodded. In a much calmer voice, she said: “Send in Severus, and I was serious: I don’t want to see the three of you for a few hours. I think my dad might be out back. Go see if he needs any help; he shouldn’t be lifting anything heavy.” All three nodded, and as Ron left, Hermione saw him glance back at her. She wiped away the tear that fell as he whispered that he was sorry.

When she was alone, she closed her eyes, and wished she could go to sleep. At least she now knew her parents’ and Severus’s memory-loss could more than likely be reversed by Ron, but it still didn’t make any of this easier to understand. Why would Ron do such a thing? Why would he endanger her parents? Well, she knew he would never ever really do anything to endanger them on purpose: Ron just didn’t thinks sometimes. But there had to be something more to it that she was missing.

There was a knock, then Severus entered. “Harry said you wished to see me?”

Hermione nodded. “I wanted to thank you. Whatever you did to my legs, it helped. There is still some pain, but it is nothing like it was.”

“I am very glad to hear that. If you need me to repeat it this evening, I will.”

“I’d like that. I think I’m going to get some sleep now; it’s been a really difficult morning, and I’d like to forget about it for a while.”

“He loves you very much, I can tell. Please do not be too harsh on him. He was only trying to help, Hermione.”

This was Severus Snape telling her not to be too hard on Ron Weasley. The world had fallen. Everything around her seemed a façade — not real, yet not completely fake. It was so very confusing. “I am sorry that he altered your memories, Severus, you didn’t deserve that.”

“Nor did your parents deserve to have their memories altered and to be transported to a strange land, two years ago, yet here they are. We all do things in our lives that we do not wish to do, Hermione, but we do them out of love.”

Chapter 7: Falling Facades

Title: Falling Facades: Chapter Seven  
Author: MK Malfoy  
Characters: Severus/Hermione  
Rating: M  
Words: 2400 (this chapter)  
Summary: Hermione travels to Australia to bring her parents home, but finds more than just her parents waiting for her. Not epilogue-compliant  
Warnings: DH-compliant but not epilogue-compliant, perhaps some angst, explicit sex, spoilers for all of DH  
Disclaimer: I own none of what I write about; it is all Jo’s, Bloomsbury, Scholastic, Warner Bros, etc.

Hermione, bundled up in a coat, scarf, and gloves (had it not been for Severus, she would be freezing in her thin short-sleeve shirt and blue jeans), stood in what had once been the lake Severus had told her about, a rather deep part of it if the history books were to be believed. She tried to imagine what it must have been like thousands of years earlier when the actual shells, fish, and other sea-life filled this vast valley, rather than their fossils that now littered the abandoned lake-bed. Certainly, it must have been quite a bit noisier then than it was now, and she was thankful for the solitude that the absence of life brought. It was as if this region of the Outback had escaped the onslaught of civilization; such a thing was not at all bad, she thought as she surveyed the beautiful surroundings. She closed her eyes and allowed the serenity of this place to sooth her hurt soul.

How could Ron have kept such secrets from her? No matter that he had said it was to protect her and her parents, she couldn’t accept that: he should have told her — they were her parents after all, and he had known how very much she had missed them. Over the past few hours, he had tried and tried to talk to her, but she’d rebuked his attempts and had no plans to change her tactics. Harry had even asked her to talk to Ron, and for his trouble he'd received a rather nasty tongue-lashing. Hermione now regretted her words, but really, he shouldn’t have interfered. It wasn’t as if he could understand: he was happy and in love with Ginny and thought that his best mate and his girlfriend, or former girlfriend, should be as happy as he was. Hermione laughed aloud at the thought. Poor Harry: he was so very oblivious…

As her thoughts returned to the present, she opened her eyes and looked around her once more. It was so very dry out here; bereft without the water that had once been its protector. In contrast, she felt as if she were drowning in sorrow. Her world had fallen around her and she needed someone to help her find her way out of this ocean of despair.

She heard voices becoming louder with each passing second, and sighed. So much for her alone time. She looked behind her and watched as Severus and Harry walked toward her. They were talking… or Harry was. Severus was studying him intently, as if trying to recall a previous memory, which he probably was.

“You’ll freeze out here, Hermione,” Harry said as he handed her a glass of something warm.

Hermione studied it, but refrained from drinking.

“Drink up; it’s cider,” said Harry as rolled his eyes. “It’s not poison. Your mum made it and said to give you some. She also told Severus and me to bring you inside before you catch cold.” He was looking at her with pity, as was Severus.

Grudgingly, Hermione took the offered glass, but only because it was from her mother. “Fine.” She took a sip, and then closed her eyes as the warmth of the spiced-liquid warmed her parched throat. It hardly thawed her frozen heart, but it certainly helped insulate her freezing body. She took another sip then looked toward the house. “I want to go home.” She then turned back toward the valley. Despair the likes of which she had never experienced — well, she probably had, but at the moment, it seemed to go unchallenged — began to wash over her in waves, and she couldn’t help the tears that fell. She could only hope that her present company wouldn’t acknowledge this. She looked at Harry and wanted to say something, but there was nothing to say. She just wanted him to get her out of here. Only she couldn’t leave, not yet, anyway.

“Then go,” responded Harry, his face now contorted in a rather funny look, as if he didn’t comprehend what she had said. “There’s nothing keeping you here.” He then shrugged his shoulders as he glanced at Severus, whose gaze was focused on Hermione, whose gaze was now aimed toward the ground, as she tried to keep the others from seeing her tears.

“I can’t,” said a meek-sounding Hermione, very unlike herself. “My parents seem to think this is their home. What would they do if I took them from here and made them live in a foreign place that they felt uncomfortable in? That’s not fair to them.”

“Have you asked Ron to try to reverse the charm? He did redo it after all; perhaps he can help them regain their memories,” replied Severus, remnants of his former cadence quite prevalent in each articulated syllable.

Hermione laughed, but it wasn’t at all a joyful laugh. “It’s the house; something about the house is making it impossible to do magic.”

“But how do you know, Hermione,” asked Harry, now looking at her with concern. “You haven’t asked him to try, have you? You’ve been filled with such anger toward Ron that you haven’t even asked him to try.” His words had an acerbic bite to them, and it was deliberate.

Such words, with such intense rebuke, hurt Hermione. She hated it when Harry was upset with her. He meant more to her than anyone, even Ron, and she didn’t think she could go on without his friendship. Instead of answering, she turned and began walking toward the house, but soon found herself running. Harry was right; she had been so very mad at Ron and had scoffed at his attempts to talk with her. How could she have been so stupid? But, then, as if in defeat, she sighed. Now she knew, without a doubt, that she had been hurt mentally, as well as physically. The old Hermione, the one pre-Floo-accident, would have thought of this straight away. Again, she felt as more despair found her; would things ever be as they had been before? She knew the answer.

When she reached the house, she saw Ron, through the door, seated at the kitchen table, reading something: He looked sad. There were so many things she wanted to say: most of them not that nice, but at the moment, she had to swallow those remarks. “Ron!” she exclaimed, but then she thought she might want to calm down. “Ron, could you please, please try to reverse the charm on my parents? We can do them together.” Ron looked at her oddly, and Hermione had the fleeting thought that he might refuse, but then he nodded.

“I never meant to hurt anyone, Hermione,” Ron said, his voice soft and low as he stood. “I was trying to help.”

As angry as she still was, and she was that and more, she decided a curt nod would suffice in this current situation. She needed Ron to help her, and she needed to regain her composure; she could feel herself giving in to her anger and that wasn’t a good feeling. She didn’t want to become so eaten up with rage at someone else that she ceased thinking about herself.

An hour later, Hermione cried in her mother’s arms as Jean Granger ran her hands through her daughter’s hair. Hermione had more tears than she thought a person had a right to have, but didn’t care as she held onto her mother for dear life. She had her mother and father back.

“Ssh, love, it’s okay. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Hermione pulled back and tried to smile, but more tears fell down her cheeks instead. She tried to talk, but couldn’t. She wiped her eyes, then hugged her mother again, not quite believing this was truly happening.

When her father entered the room, she turned her head and smiled. As completely ecstatic as she was about having her mother back, and she thought she might die of happiness over that fact, it was her father who she had been the most emotional about seeing again, which had been a slight shock to her. But she always had been a daddy’s girl when she’d been younger. “You’re really my daddy. I was so scared I’d never have you back.” She knew her voice sounded so young, and she did feel every bit that five-year-old whose daddy had taken her on her first pony ride at her grandparent’s estate in Devon.

Michael Granger joined his wife and patted his daughter on the head. “I’m you daddy, sweet girl, and I’m afraid you’re stuck with your mother and I; we’ll never leave you again. Even if it is for our own safety,” he added, a slight chuckle escaping.

Movement by the door caused the tender moment to be broken, and Hermione turned her head, then glared: It was Ron. Yes, he had helped her, but he had also been the reason they hadn’t gotten their memories back a week earlier. Hermione wasn’t quite ready to forgive him yet. And there was still so much she couldn’t understand. “Go away,” she said before turning back toward her parents.

“I just wanted to say that Severus is ready for me to try the spell on him, and I wanted to know if you wanted to watch,” replied a defiant Ron. “We’ll do it with or without you, but Severus asked that you be there,” he added, then turned and left.

Hermione stared at the spot where Ron had stood, not knowing what to do. She really hated this situation. It wasn't at all fair. She looked at her parents. She needed them to tell her what to do.

“Go, Hermione; it will be shock enough when Severus comes round. I know what a kind, loving person he has been over the past year, but I also recall the stories you have told your father and me. I fear he is in for a rather huge shock. Your father and I recall everything about the past two years, so Severus will probably remember everything as well.”

As much as Hermione didn’t want to be there when Severus remembered who he was, she knew she hadn’t a choice. Most of her wished fervently that she could keep him as he was now. She found herself rather attached to this Severus and didn’t want that to end, but she knew in her heart that even the mean-spirited, surly, acerbic Severus Snape deserved his true identity, even if it was so very evident that he would never wish to have it back. She felt her mother squeeze her hand, and nodded as she looked up and gave her mum a half-smile. Her father reached out and lifted her chin. She felt it beginning to quiver as she looked into his loving eyes. A lone tear began to trickle down her face.

“We, all of us, are products of our surroundings, Hermione. Nothing is forever. Just as your mother and I have changed over the past two years, so have you, and so has Severus. This doesn’t have to be the end for you or Severus: It can be the beginning if you’re willing to try. As your father, I want to protect you and keep you away from him, because I know that the man he once was, is about to return, and I know he is going to lash out at you. I’ll not allow him to do so. However, I also know that somewhere beneath that gruff exterior, the Severus Snape that your mother and I have come to love over this past year, and the Severus Snape that you have begun to love over the past week will reside. If you are willing to be patient, I think you can uncover that person. And you don’t know how difficult it is for me to say this, but I have watched you and him, and I know that the two of you have something special. I’d kill him before I let him hurt you, but I would also defend him against anyone if he truly loves you and can be the person your mother, you, and I have seen.”

Hermione’s brown eyes widened. Love? No—but yes, perhaps so. She didn’t rightly know, but there was indeed something there. All she could do was nod. There was a lump in her throat and she couldn’t even cry now. She was numb.

“Go on, dear,” her mother said, her voice soothing in only a way a mother’s voice can be. “Your father and I will be outside.”

As Hermione entered the bedroom, she watched Ron as he looked out of the window, then she turned to see Severus studying his hands as he sat on the bed. She softly cleared her throat and he looked up, but there was no smile for her this moment. She didn’t know what to do, other than cry, which she still couldn’t do.

Her parents were back, so she should be filled with happiness, and not sadness. She was about to go back to England, where she felt at home. University would begin soon so she could resume her life. Her legs had begun to heal, thanks to Severus. Everything that she had planned to have a week ago was now coming to fruition, but seven days earlier she hadn’t anticipated anyone else figuring into her future equation. She still wasn’t certain that anyone else did fit that role, but she couldn’t deny that she dreaded the words that were about to come out of Ron’s mouth. If only she could stop Ron… or Severus…

“Mr. Weasley is about to return me to my former-self. I hope you don’t mind that I asked you to be here,” said a weary Severus, his voice almost flat, as he then turned toward Ron. “I’m ready, Mr. Weasley.”

It was evident that he was anything but ready for what was about to happen.

Ron turned toward him, then looked at Hermione. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” were the last words he spoke before he pointed his wand at Severus and spoke the words that would take Severus, who had been Hermione’s friend, and return him as Snape, who had been a friend to no one and an enigma to everyone.

Unbidden tears fell as Hermione listened to the words, and as she saw the transformation of Severus’s expression, she knew it had worked. She turned and walked out, unable to face what she had lost, especially since she hadn’t even realized she’d found anything until a few minutes earlier.


End file.
